The Loose Ends Will Make Knots
by Jubilee3
Summary: "You look into his blue eyes, still hazy with want for you, and you realize you have your answer. Not all escapes are destinations." (Will, Sonny, Brian)
1. Chapter 1

_"A heart suspends, then bends it into three _

_A broken piece of what we used to be."_

— "The Loose Ends Will Make Knots" by Stars.

* * *

You remember thinking that a winter wedding could be beautiful.

Much as you might dislike the bride, you could easily imagine how lovely Gabi, dressed in white, could look while standing in snow with a red bouquet in hand. You imagined a church with untouched snowfall gathered on the lattices, the wealthy people of Salem dressed in furs and jewels, and you…

In your mind, you saw yourself dancing with Will at the reception, huddled together in the winter air, your hot breaths visibly mingling between you as you held him close.

It was a nice idea.

But, of course, it doesn't snow the day of Gabi and Nick's wedding. Everyone is there, but they're there to witness your public humiliation as your boyfriend stands up before the good people of Salem and admits to having knocked up the bride.

Your pretty picture starts to crack down the middle.

* * *

One of the most painful experiences of your life, and everywhere you go, people seem to know about it.

You strongly suspect some local tabloid of alerting the public to the whole thing. You don't read that kind of stuff and refuse to start now, but the evidence is all around. People you've never even made eye-contact with before turn around to stare at you in class. You can't help but feel that certain patrons come into Common Grounds specifically to gawk at you.

You have to smile and be professional, and you do. It just gets harder each time.

You never wanted to be high-profile, but both you and Will come from prominent families and most of Salem's prominent families were present at the wedding. People slurp up melodrama like it's going out of style, always. When something big happens, they are going to pay attention. And Will offered them up a feast by coming clean in the most dramatic, public way possible.

Why? Why would he do this to you? It didn't have to go down like it did. Sure, Chad had blown the paternity scandal sky high by announcing that the baby couldn't be Nick's, but Will could have… Really, he could have done _anything_ other than what he did and it would have been better. He didn't have to humiliate you.

He just chose to. Your best friend, your lover.

"Did you know about this?" Lucas asked you. When your chest felt tight enough to snap, and you could do nothing but stand there, paralyzed, as you watched Will knock down with hilarious ease all the dreams you'd built.

You remember that Will's grandmother Kate already looked sorry for you. "Look at him. Of course he didn't."

Of course you didn't.

It's more likely that Will didn't even consider your feelings at all in the moment. Contrary to what Lucas believes about his son, Will is more than capable of leaping without looking first. He has the reactionary gene. You probably weren't even a factor in his decision to blurt out the truth at the most inconvenient time.

That doesn't exactly make you feel better.

So, now people stare at you.

You really wish they wouldn't. They make you feel cheap and violated, as if people are enjoying your pain (they are).

The stares make you want to disappear. Each time, you can feel yourself shrinking back a little more behind a protective mental wall, your own private Jericho. You know better than to let yourself do that, but it's your favorite defense mechanism.

You remember telling Will to ignore the stares when he was suspected of murder (and when he was outed in a tabloid, and when…). _Who cares,_ you said, _as long as you know who you are?_ As usual, your advice is easier said than done.

It's not all strangers either. Your friends and family just want to make sure you're okay. They mean well. You get that. But when they force you to talk about it, you have to actually face what's happened to you, and you have to acknowledge that Will…

… that Will is gone. Gone to have a baby with someone who is not you. He's going to be a _father_, and this baby is going to be the most important thing in his world.

And you? You're going to be alone. Again.

This is not your happy ending.

* * *

Your parents are big believers in therapy.

Once upon a time, you gave them good reason to be.

Maybe people wouldn't guess it by looking at you, but there was a time when you struggled, and it got bad for a while. Your parents credit your therapist with helping you come to terms with yourself, and then with helping them come to terms with _you_.

A lot of work by a lot of people went into creating the person you are today.

You tried to explain the process to Will once, but it was hard when you didn't want him to know the true extent of your past self-loathing. You tried to give him just enough for him to benefit from your experiences, but there were pieces of you that you weren't ready to share yet, and your friendship at the time was still so new.

You don't know why you didn't tell him later.

Of course, there was always the worry that you might push him right over the cliff he seemed to be perpetually hanging over during those early days of knowing him. Back then, it could hurt to look at him, to see him in so much pain, and not just because it was like looking into a mirror and seeing yourself seven years prior.

You've only ever wanted to see Will happy.

You thought you were doing him a favor by presenting yourself as a positive example, as someone who had gone through the fire and come out unbreakable.

Except you misrepresented how bad the fire burned you, probably because you wanted him to see the bright side at the other end of the tunnel instead of the dark parts of your soul that so many people have helped you to bury.

Maybe that's why Will didn't believe you when you tried to tell him it would be okay. He's always been able to read you like an open book.

You thought that went both ways.

Now, with the benefit of hindsight, you wonder if portraying yourself as so unflappable has finally come around to bite you. Will's grandmother Kate once asked you to be careful with him, and you did your absolute best for whatever good it was worth.

But, all too frequently, people seem to forget to be careful with _you_.

Maybe it's because you put up such a good front. If anyone were to ask, then you could tell them that it's easy enough to _seem_ okay. All you have to do is shut down and move forward…

… and leave everything blowing in the wind behind you.

* * *

Of course, there is at least one person who knows what fragility looks like on you.

Sunlight glints off of her diamond earrings and into your eyes, and your mother looks at you with concern when she asks, "Honey, how are you doing?"

"I'm… doing," you say.

Henderson has laid out a beautiful brunch for you in the gardens this morning, and you wish you were in a place to appreciate it. He even had heat lamps set up to protect you from the winter morning chill. Your favorite muffins are on the table, your favorite juice in the pitcher. Uncle Victor's poor, long-suffering butler sees all but says little.

Bundled up in your favorite blanket, you push the eggs across your plate, separating the food into separate camps so none of it is touching.

Mom watches you do this, probably remembering years spent raising a neurotic eater. Your brothers eat as if the plate could be taken away at any moment, shoveling food into their mouths with impressive speed. Just one more way you're different.

"Sonny…"

You do your best to smile, even though it's hard. "I'm okay, Mom."

You know it's a struggle for her, but she's been so good about avoiding Will's name lately. She keeps all her _I-told-you-so's_ to herself, and you're grateful. She never wanted you with Will in the first place. And now you're not. So, what else is there to say about it?

She pats your hand, looking no less worried. She's been here before after all. "You know, I still have Doctor Leonard's number…"

"I'm okay, Mom. It's just the weather." _This time_, you don't say. "You know how it puts me in a mood."

There's a reason you always ran for hot destinations. Years spent living in Texas, in Dubai, in Africa have left you dependent on the sun's Vitamin D as a vital source of endorphins. Not everyone has to think about specific sources of endorphins, but you do. Salem's New England weather has been an adjustment.

Mom clearly doesn't believe you, and not just because you're having brunch outside on a perfectly blue sky morning, but she wants you to be okay almost as much as you do.

It's been years since you had a really bad episode.

You really, really want to be okay.

* * *

"Have you talked to Brian lately?"

Speak of the devil, and he will appear.

* * *

Note: In the July 7, 2011 episode, Justin and Adrienne mentioned having participated in support groups to help them understand and deal with Sonny's sexual orientation.


	2. Chapter 2

The morning of the wedding, everything was perfect.

You were fixing Will's tie for him. His hair was still mussed from making love with you. He had the key, and you were already secretly planning all sorts of cheesy, romantic places where you could hide your next gifts for him to find.

You thought everything was perfect. Will knew better.

It's kind of devastating how easily it all slipped out of your hands.

You laugh when Brian makes a joke about Will's baggage coming complete with a diaper bag, because if you don't smile through it, you don't know what you'll do.

It's another coping mechanism of yours.

* * *

When you returned to Salem, you told yourself that it was going to be different this time. You were going to do it right, be the person you wanted to be instead of the person you used to be. You could be New Sonny.

You _liked_ being New Sonny. Friendly, trusting, _open_, New Sonny was hard-earned for you. Old Sonny was never really gone, but you could push all the old hangups back into the dark where they belonged. For the most part.

Old insecurities reared their heads when Will tried to pressure you into sex before either of you were ready, tried to use you just to reassure himself that he could. It was a reflex that had you breaking up with him right there on the spot. If it isn't fun to be used by someone you don't even care about, then it's miserable to be used by someone you love.

Will learned then that you can be reactionary, too.

And if he didn't, then at least he knows now.

When you walked out of that church, you were done. You've made a lot of allowances for Will over the past two years. You've waded through a whole lot of crazy. You stood by him when he was being terrible to everyone, when he was offending your friends because he could barely stand to be around anyone gay that wasn't you. Safe, nonjudgmental, nonthreatening you. You stood by him when he was working for a mobster and sabotaging honest elections so E.J. could become the mayor. You stood by him when he was accused of _murder_.

Is it so much to ask that he be honest with you? That he not impregnate psychopaths and then string you along for months and months? After everything, don't you deserve better than that?

You ignored the little voice at the back of your mind that warned you something was coming, that Will wasn't being completely honest with you, because you dismissed it as being Old Sonny with his bleak pessimism trying to ruin your happiness.

You didn't listen. But you should have.

The bricks were already there, lodged into tidily ordered corners of your brain, but Will is the reason you have to build the wall back up after thinking yourself done with it forever.

And now New Sonny feels very far away, as if it would require another trek through fire to reach him.

You just don't have the energy at the moment.

* * *

It confounds you how you can be so mad at Will, feel so betrayed, yet he can still take your breath away just by walking into a room.

He comes into the cafe, sets himself there in your doorway with a resolute tilt of his chin, his delicate bravery on display. Looking at him scatters your feelings into kaleidoscope fragments. You want to cry, you want to kiss him, you want him to go away and never come back, you want him to stay, you want…

No matter what you're feeling, there's always been a pull between you. It can override your common sense if you let it.

Will tells you, "Sonny, I can't tell you how much I wish every day that I never lied to you. I _love_ you, and it's not like I'm gonna stop. I want to be with you." He's saying all the right things, the things you need to hear.

In a weird way, you can't help but feel proud of him. You once assured him that he would get to this place where he would know and be able to articulate what he wants. In some ways, he's come so far. He's advanced where you've regressed.

Will inches closer with clear intent, and you see it, you do, but you can't bring yourself to move away. He's so earnest, and seeing it eats away at your resolve.

"Sonny, God, I swear that if… I mean, if you could just give me one more chance, then I will never lie to you again. I miss you every minute. I miss you every day."

You see what's going to happen before it does. Will lunges for you, and you let him. He kisses you with so much desperate longing that it shoots straight to your heart like an adrenaline shot.

Just like that, the wall comes down.

The pull between you snapped tight, you forget yourself and kiss him back. The undertow drags you down, and you follow him to the center of the room, momentarily struck blind with desire. God, you've missed him. You've never wanted anything like you've wanted him. And you're so close to throwing your pride and your reason away just so you can hold him again.

But then he says, "Can we got back to your place? Please?"

And you realize he's doing it again, trying to distract you with sex. For all the ways he has progressed, some things are still very much the same.

Your body and your heart have already betrayed you, so you're honest: "I want to be alone with you so bad right now. More than anything…" It would be so, so easy to take Will back to your place, to lose yourself in his body, to use him to numb yourself _against_ him.

"Okay," Will says. He eagerly reaches for you. "Okay."

You push him back. "Will, it's not gonna fix our problems. It's not gonna make anything better. It's gonna be just sex. And it's never been just sex with us."

Everything else has been tarnished by lies and disappointments. You're not going to let him take this last thing away from you, too.

Will cups your face. His expression is loving and maybe even kind of grateful. "You are so incredible. You are the best thing that could have ever happened to me. And I'm sorry I'm such an idiot."

You want to believe him, but if you're so incredible and the best thing that's ever happened to him, then why are you both in this situation?

As you watch him leave, you've never felt more in (and out) of love before in your life.

* * *

Note: Selections of dialogue were adapted from the January 24, 2013 episode (the "I miss you every minute, I miss you every day" and the "It's never been just sex between us" scenes).


	3. Chapter 3

When Brian re-enters your life, he comes ready for battle.

Before, it was mostly innocent banter and date invitations to comedy shows and concerts. He was patient if forward with his intentions, and you were flattered if uninterested. When you and Will became official, Brian bowed out gracefully, letting you know he would "be around" should that ever change.

It turns out that was Round #1.

Round #2 already feels different. Brian is different. He doesn't come around with invitations or a sympathetic ear. He's rested, regrouped, polished, and he has the high ground this time because you've already been worn down by Will. He's not going to let you friend-zone him this time.

He's ready for you, and you have absolutely no defenses left.

* * *

In the aftermath, he walks through the door, probably expecting to find you an emotional mess.

Five, four, _three_ years ago? He might have.

Today, you smile. "Hey, Brian."

* * *

"It's been a while. Haven't seen you around."

"I lead a quiet, monastic life," he says.

Uh-huh. "That's so you."

"Seriously. You turned me down. My world was shattered, and I started contemplating the emptiness of existence."

Even though he's obviously playing with you, you did wonder once if losing out to Will didn't at least hurt his ego, if not his heart. He seemed sincere at the time, but Brian is the kind of guy you assume is used to getting what he wants.

Once upon a time, you would have been one of the eager souls lining up to give him everything (anything). Your least favorite ex once called you "needy," but it always felt like the opposite, like you were giving away parts of yourself faster than you could fill them back up.

Before Will, beautiful, arrogant, entitled boys were kind of your forte. You like to think you've evolved a little since then.

You can only imagine what kind of hot mess you and Brian would have made if you had met earlier and if he had still wanted you half as much as he seems to now.

"Yeah, I have that effect on people. So, what'd you come up with?"

He hesitates, and you roll your eyes. "Right. You _contemplated_."

"I _did_. And I realized that if existence is empty, the least we should get is a cup of good Italian espresso along the way."

The line is so cheesy, but you're smiling because it's so nice to be having a conversation that isn't about Will, and you don't think he's really expecting you to take him seriously anyway. For some reason, you find Brian's lack of subtlety endearing instead of annoying. The way he's looking at you… it's making your head swim pleasantly.

Brian hangs around Common Grounds through the last hour of your shift. You know he's waiting for closing. Your heart pounds and your palms start to sweat. You can feel an invisible cord between you start to tighten and pull. You're being drawn in.

After the last customer is out the door and you've flipped the lock, Brian says, "You want something? Just do it. Go big or go home, right?"

He's talking about the caffeine-high of espresso. He's not talking about espresso at all. And you think, _Ah, there it is_. Go big or go home (alone). Brian has thrown down the gauntlet, and it's your turn to pick it up. Do you want to?

The reality of this suddenly hits you. You realize you're not dealing with hypotheticals anymore, and that you've been subconsciously leaning toward him. He's leaning towards you… You're closer than you're ready to be. And all of a sudden you feel too warm in your own skin.

Panic puts you back into your designated pattern of pulling away at his push. Having gotten a little too close to the fire, you try taking a step back into safer territory. You avert your gaze from his hungry one and you pretend to focus on putting your apron away. "Right."

Brian follows you around the counter. He's not going to make this easy on you, not this time. "It's really good to hear you laugh," he says.

You admit, "It feels like forever since I have." You thought it would be forever until you _would_.

"It shouldn't be like that. Not for you."

And he's in your personal space (or maybe you moved into his) but you're standing closer than casual friends should. He touches your hand. You feel the playful smile slip off your face. You know what Brian wants, what he's always wanted. This is your last chance to put on the breaks. You don't know what's going to happen if you give in.

That's a lie. You know exactly what's going to happen. And that's why when Brian leans halfway toward you, hesitating long enough to let you choose, you meet him in the middle.

* * *

When Will desperately clutched your face and kissed you, it reminded you of the sensation of drowning, of being pulled down against your will by an unshakable force. The force was love, but it still left you vulnerable all over again when all you want is some control back.

When Brian kisses you, just hours later, it feels as if you've been thrown a life-preserver.

Just as you're losing yourself in his mouth, he asks if you want to stop. Do you?

_No_, you realize. You don't. You want to kiss him until the lust fries your brain and you can't remember why he's there in the first place.

And so you do.

This time, you're going to borrow one of Will's coping mechanisms.

This time, Brian gets to win. And everyone else gets to lose.

* * *

You tried to be friends with Brian before. It didn't work.

Much as you tried to ignore it in the past, there's an undeniable spark between you that can flare to life at any given moment. It's banked passion and thwarted lust. Brian looks at you as if he wants to eat you alive. You can't be "just friends" with someone who looks at you like that.

Still, when the spark is dormant, when he stops with the cheesy lines and barely tempered sexual aggression, you find that you can really enjoy his company. It just wasn't worth the risk or the strain on Will's insecurity while you were together. Some part of you may have wanted Brian, but all of you wanted Will. The choice the first time was easy.

Yet, here you are again.

You said you wanted to take it slow. You said, "Oh, this is my favorite movie," and Brian said, "I know."

You don't make it twenty minutes in before you're in Brian's lap. His hands are in your hair, down your back, gripping your ass and pulling you in as you grind against him. You're kissing him with tongue and teeth, and there's popcorn on the floor where Brian hilariously chucked it the second he anticipated your move (yeah, you're the one who snapped first).

He doesn't actually say it aloud, but everything about the desperate way he clutches you, the way he moans and moves says, _Finally_.

You two could never be just friends.

* * *

Notes:

1. Selections of dialogue were adapted from the January 31, 2013 episode (the "Brian returns" scene).

2. I've seen so many people describe Brian's actions on the show as "throwing down the gauntlet" that I feel I have to credit the entire Wilson/Brison community for the imagery.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Due to this site's rules regarding explicit material, this chapter has been significantly edited. If you want to read the full version, then you can read it at starvinbohemian. livejournal 299020. html.

* * *

Just when you think that you're starting to understand the big picture, Will tells you that he gave up his own kid for you.

He was going to _give his kid away._ So he could keep _you_. What was he thinking? Salem isn't that big of a town. You would have seen that child on any given day, would have walked right by her — a _daughter_, Will is having a _daughter_— and never known. Maybe his plan was to distract you whenever it happened so you wouldn't look too close and see that she had Will's eyes or his smile.

He must think you're really stupid.

You've been really stupid.

If that weren't bad enough, then Will wants you to think that she wouldn't even exist if it weren't for you, as if you were right there in bed with them.

It's so unfair of him to put that on you.

Will rejected _you_ that day. You had finally put yourself out there, laid your heart on your sleeve, and kissed him because you were so, so grateful he was safe and _alive_ after the gas explosion that took out a good chunk of Salem in one blast.

He pushed you away, accused you of taking advantage, and essentially told you that it was all in your head, that he never wanted you at all.

You don't think there will ever be a time in your life when that memory doesn't sting.

Brian was there for you that day, his attention a ready balm for your bruised ego.

Apparently, you were silly to think that it was ever truly about _your_ pain, because it was always going to be about Will.

Will, who was so messed up by the prospect of you-and-him that he went off the rails and nearly gave you whiplash with his quick turn-around from _no_ to _absolutely yes_.

But not before he jumped into Gabi's bed to… what? Cure himself? Of you? After he saw you with Brian…

Maybe he doesn't mean it to sound like blame, but that's what you hear. That if you had never kissed him, had never _confused_ him, had never let Brian into your coffee shop that day, then this child, this new _life_, wouldn't exist.

If he's right, and your involvement really was so integral to her coming into existence, then that kind of makes you responsible for her, and for what Will almost did for you. That's just…

And now Will wants to make you a father.

A father to his and Gabi's child. The one that was conceived because Will saw you with Brian and jumped to the wrong conclusion. In a strange way, this makes Brian responsible for her, too.

Will, Brian, Gabi, Nick, you— you're all twisted up together in knots and the end result is this baby.

"I want you to be in her life," he tells you. What else could he mean?

Abigail asked if you could live with what Will did. She meant the lies. You wonder if you could live with the responsibility.

"Sonny, _please_."

Right now… no.

You can't.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, you don't always handle it well when things get hard.

When things got bad for you in Dubai, you ran off to "find yourself" in Europe and ended up trekking down into Africa to climb mountains (turns out there are no mountains high enough to escape from yourself). When things went south with your ex in Africa, you ran back to Salem with some lofty goal of finally introducing people to the real you.

You wonder where you'll run this time and how you'll excuse it.

When you voice these thoughts to Brian, he throws a leg over yours, pining you down on his bed, and says, "Stay."

You look into his blue eyes, still hazy with want for you, and you realize you have your answer. Not all escapes are destinations.

_Stay_.

* * *

You wonder how seriously Brian takes you.

Because, once upon a time, you told him he was being unfair to caution you against getting involved with Will, that you didn't do casual sex, as if you were so above it…

… and now look at you.

You're no one's rock now. Not when Brian is all heat between your legs, and it's just so…

There's no pride left to be had here because you're completely open and exposed, legs around his waist, moans so loud they must hear you in the apartment next door. "Oh, God, Brian, yes, _please_…"

Brian grins against your throat.

He bites your lip and, shit, that's going to bleed— yup, there's a copper taste in your mouth, and Brian is licking at your stinging lip. It's filthy and obscene and, God help you, but you _like_ it.

If sex with Will was a balm over your heart, then sex with Brian feels like therapy. The hard kind, with blood, sweat, and tears as you fight and claw your way through confronting your demons, good and bad.

Brian laughs at you. He still can't believe you would ever want it like this, with torn lips, finger-shaped bruises on your hips, and scratches down his back. He thought you'd want candles and soft music and sweet words…

… but that's how it was with Will, and right now you want to be as far as you can be from that.

Brian is probably expecting you to lose this game of chicken at any moment, to hold up the white flag of surrender, but he's clearly delighted when you don't.

If he thought you were such a saint, then why did he ever want you to begin with? You've known guys like Brian before, and they have no use for saints. Other than to ruin them.

But Brian has already ruined you, has taken you apart with his tongue and teeth and put you back together so many times. He should have lost interest in you by now but…

… it keeps happening.


	5. Chapter 5

Brian's apartment is the polar opposite of yours.

His taste runs high-end. Yours runs more thrift store. Not that you couldn't have a place like Brian's. You just chose to go simple.

_Liberal guilt_, Will once teased.

He was right. You're grateful for everything you've been given, but your privileged upbringing embarrasses you in casual company. You were taught that money is a taboo subject for a reason.

Will loved your apartment. You didn't think he would after getting a taste of the high life courtesy of E.J. Dimera. When he agreed to move in with you, he could have suggested you both get a nicer place— you would have, for him— but he didn't. He was happy to live in squalor with you, and you loved him more for it.

Will's upbringing has always confused you. He's left you with the impression of constant instability, his livelihood ever in flux depending on who his mother was dating/married to/blackmailing/etc. But Will has plenty of relatives with money, many safety nets floating in his periphery that he never seems to utilize or appreciate.

(He might not always have a choice if your suspicions about Nick and Gabi are right. Custody lawyers are expensive.)

You know he's moved back in with his mother. He didn't have to. He has any number of relatives who adore him and would happily take him in. His father is in town. E.J probably still keeps Will's old apartment on standby should Will ever be tempted back to the dark side.

If you asked him, he would probably cite his siblings as an excuse, but they didn't exactly stop him from literally running out the door when you held up a key. You think the ties that bind are tighter between Will and Sami than he would like to admit.

Brian clearly isn't embarrassed by having money.

Everything about him, from the apartment to the clothes to his taste in wine, speaks of privilege. He has real paintings on his walls and not just the typical, cheap college prints they sell outside the Student Union.

Your curiosity overrides your typical aversion to the topic of money, and you ask, "How does a college student afford an apartment like this?"

Brian looks up from his medical textbook. He's lying on his stomach, naked except for a pair of reading glasses. You wish you had a camera because it's quite a sight. He has a test in an hour, but he still took the time to make you breakfast and then to lick it off of you.

You feel sticky and kind of gross in the aftermath, but he hasn't yet asked you to kindly get off of his expensive-looking bed sheets. Nor has he kicked you out yet even though you're clearly distracting him from his last-minute studying.

"You're one to talk," he says, nudging your leg with his foot.

True. Much to your chagrin, you come from money, too. But you paid for your apartment and everything in it with your own money that you made from hard work and sacrificed sleep. It's not much, but it's yours.

Still, you end up sleeping over at Brian's more often than not these days because you can't stand going back to your sad, empty apartment. And you can't bring yourself to bring him back there, not to the bed where you made love to Will for the first time and where you asked him to move in with you.

Not to where you were happy.

You don't know why, but you're kind of disappointed that Brian comes from money. Hypocritical? Sure, and maybe this marks you as weird, but you liked the idea of him being internally at odds with the clean-cut image he presents. No one is as confident as he pretends to be. Not really.

Who understands that better than you?

You think you've caught glimpses of the real him here and there. The truth was there all those months ago when he gently touched your face and said he would wait for you to get Will out of your system. True to his word, he came back for you.

It was there in his hurt expression just days ago when he thought you were rejecting him (again). It was there in the way he ruefully rubbed his head and shifted his gaze from yours when he admitted that becoming comfortable in his own skin didn't happen overnight.

You jumped on this latest kernel of insight into him, sensing an in to a real conversation that wasn't all about seducing you with Brian's best lines and expensive red wine. Of course, he easily deflected you, more interested at the time in getting into your pants than letting you get into his brain.

_Fair enough_, you thought at the time.

The revelation that he wears clear contacts most of the time is a welcome one. It makes him more… real.

Brian goes back to his reading. Resting your chin on folded arms at the edge of the bed, you let your gaze slide lazily over the room until it lands on a picture sitting on his desk. Picture Brian has his arm around a pretty little girl with familiar eyes. She must be his little sister. Brian has never mentioned her to you. He never talks about anyone other than the occasional mention of his best friend, Neil, who you already know.

"Do you see your family a lot?" you ask.

He ignores you at first and then says, "No," without looking up.

"Oh. But they're in Salem, right?"

"Some."

"Are they—?"

"Sonny," he says, cutting you off. "I really need to study."

You duck your head, embarrassed. "Right. Sorry."

You don't know why you're prying anyway. It's just hard to get a read on Brian, and if the clues to the real him are anywhere, then they're here in his apartment. But even the apartment feels like a façade, like something calculated to give a superficial impression.

Last night, you read him just fine. He never hides his desire for you. Lust is an honest transaction between you.

But in the cold light of day, you find yourself only too aware of the gaps between the guy you're sleeping with and the guy who made you breakfast today, the guy who has a test and an actual life beyond you.

You try to be quiet, but nervous energy has your foot tapping the bed until Brian pointedly rests his own leg over yours, halting the movement.

He sighs and gives you a knowing look. He shouldn't know you well enough to look at you like that. "What's wrong, Sonny?"

Biting your lip, you avoid his gaze and stare instead at your own finger as it makes invisible patterns on the sheet. "Brian, we're friends, right?" You'll never be friends like you and Chad are friends, but friends-with-benefits is still a kind of friends, right?

He looks relieved, and you wonder what he thought you were going to say. Smirking, he reaches under you and palms your cock. "Mmn. _Best_ friends."

You laugh, despite yourself. "Jerk. I thought you needed to study."

He places his text book, still open, into your hands and then rolls over so he's covering your back. His glasses press into your skin when he mouths your shoulder, and your breath stutters even as you snort. "I'm really good at multi-tasking."

As it turns out, he really is.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: Due to this site's policy on explicit content, this chapter has been significantly edited to comply. Which was hard considering that most of this chapter was pure smut, heh. If you want to read the full version: you can read here: archiveofourown works/ 692758/ chapters/ 1303802.

* * *

_A month ago_…

It's a strange dream that wakes you.

One where you're standing in a cave and all the people around you are mere shadows in a strange pantomime cast against a stone backdrop. Every time you try to touch someone, they evaporate under your fingers. After so many times, it starts to alarm you.

You know you're looking for Will, but you can't find him because everyone looks the same.

The sense of feeling bereft follows you into consciousness, and you're already reaching beside you for reassurance even before you're fully awake. When your hand finds only bedding, you're up with a panicked intake of breath.

As soon as the sleep fog clears, you realize you panicked for nothing. Will is still beside you. He just rolled over to the opposite edge of the bed. It was just a dream. He's still here. You breath easier.

It's silly to let a dream get to you like this, but you want to be touching him, so you spoon up against his bare back and wrap your arms around him. Will hums in his sleep. You both fell asleep naked, and his bare skin is that wonderful, flushed kind of warm from rolling around in your sheets all night.

You bury your face in his hair, and the familiar smell of Will's shampoo is comforting. You want to inhale him. Pressing closer, you trace your lips over the shell of his ear. Will's heart starts to beat a little faster beneath your palm.

You're clinging even though you don't mean to. It's not even the dream. More like the creeping awareness you've been trying to suppress that keeps whispering to you that something feels off.

Will is here in your arms, as he has been for months now, but lately he's been distant. Physically here, but mentally elsewhere.

You want to tether him to the here and now with you.

Will thinks you don't see, that you don't know there's something he's keeping from you. Maybe even something _big_, though you have no idea what it could be. Doesn't he know there's nothing he could do that would scare you off? You're in this for the long haul.

This insecure feeling is all wrong for what you two have.

You realize Will is awake when he turns his head to kiss you mid-nuzzle. The kiss is sweet and slow like dripping molasses. "Mmn. Morning," he murmurs against your lips. You can already tell this is going to be one of the good mornings where he lingers in the moment and not one where he gnaws his bottom lip and won't look you in the eye.

Maybe you're psychically broadcasting your thoughts, because some of the sleepy haze clears from Will's eyes, and he looks concerned. "You okay?"

"Yes." You kiss his shoulder. "I just love you. That's all."

His bright smile makes your chest ache. He should always look so happy. "I love _you_."

"Good," you say, sliding your hand lightly over his flank. Your fingers follow the contours, creating invisible maps of his body. Will sighs contentedly in your arms.

A light press on his hip, and Will rolls over onto his stomach. You crawl over him. Keeping your weight on your arms, you press your chest to his back just for the sensation of skin-on-skin. Starting at the base of his neck, you run your lips over his spine, pausing to lick and nip at various vertebrae as you move down his body. Will moans and arches toward your mouth.

He's so beautiful. You have to take a moment to sit back and marvel at him. All those months you waited for him because you knew it would be like this, that he would be worth it. You were right.

Will looks at you over his shoulder. "Sonny?"

It's hard to believe you're so close now to having everything you've ever wanted. But you are, and you're not going to let dark thoughts or weird dreams ruin this for you.

You smile reassuringly at him. _Will_ is everything you've ever wanted.

You promise yourself then and there that you'll do everything in your power to make sure he'll never have reason to doubt it.

You make love. Afterward, he pulls you up into his arms, and he kisses your face, your neck. You're so wrapped up in him, he's going to unravel you.

For the first time in your life, you're happy to unravel as long as he unravels with you.

* * *

A month ago, you were happy and in love.

You were moving in together.

You were making love on one of those lazy Sundays and probably thinking you would have all the Sundays for the rest of your lives.

Today, Will gives the key back.

He won't look you in the eye. "Yeah, I just, uh… figured I'd had it long enough."

Of course. He doesn't need the key to your apartment because you aren't together anymore.

You thought you were ready for this conversation, but it hits you like a ton of bricks. You and Will never even had an official break-up conversation. It just kind of happened. It's all going by too fast. You don't even feel angry anymore. You just feel sad.

You don't want to sound desperate, you _don't_, so you shoot for nonplussed. "Will, there wasn't a time table."

"I know," he says.

You wish he would look at you.

"But I moved my stuff out already, and there's no reason for me to keep it."

No reason at all.

Ready? How could you be ready for this? It's only been a month, a day, a _minute_ since you were safe and together and in love. Now, the key is back in your pocket as if it never left, and it weighs you down as if it were a thousand pounds.

Will wants to be friends. Like you used to be. You don't know how to tell him it doesn't work that way. There is no time travel, no easy erasure of the past four months. You can't go back to a time when you don't know what it's like to make love to him, to _be_ loved by him. You can't pretend that being just friends will ever be enough ever again.

Instead, you tell him you'll always be there for him. You mean it at the time, but you don't know if you're actually strong enough for that. Could you ever be there as a shoulder to cry on when it's someone else he wants? The very thought makes you feel sick.

If you think this conversation is painful, then the worst part comes later when you have to put your apartment back to the way it was before, when you have to shove your clothes back into the center of the closet hanger from where you had pushed them over to make space for Will. Maybe you should have done this before, but a part of you was probably in denial that this would actually happen.

Really, the worst part is trying to fill the spaces back up as if you were never making plans for a life you're never going to have now.

Once everything is back in place, you find yourself sitting at the edge of your bed and realizing that you've never felt lonelier before in your life.

It feels over.

And it doesn't.

* * *

You're dozing late into the morning at Brian's place.

He left early for crew practice, and you haven't been able to bring yourself to get up yet. It's while you're dozing that you end up slipping into a dream so real it's almost a memory. You're back at your place, in your bed with Will. You're kissing, touching, and you're so relieved he's there you could cry.

You wake up aroused and reaching for him.

He's not there this time. This time, you're actually alone.

The realization starts as a small kernel of disappointment, but the kernel soon grows into a larger miserable feeling until the misery becomes anxiety rooted in your chest and your body starts to fill up with nervous energy.

You realize a second too late that you've let yourself slip into the onset of an anxiety attack. You haven't had one of those in a long time. They are your least favorite part of depression. They're unpredictable. One minute, you're fine. The next, you're not. Once one starts, there's no telling how long it will last. An hour. A day. Your worst one lasted a week. That much stress over a prolonged period of time left your chest literally, physically aching and your nerves frayed.

You have to get out of this room. You have to move. Activity is your best safeguard against anxiety attacks.

Brian is too tall for you to be able to borrow his running pants, but you catch sight of his salmon pink sweatshirt sticking out of the hamper. Hopefully, he won't mind since it was already dirty. When the fabric goes over your head, you can smell Brian on it and, for some reason, it makes you feel better. You grab a shirt, too. Your sneakers aren't ideal for running, but they'll have to do in a pinch.

You're almost out the door when you remember that Brian has tight running shorts that should fit you, and you double back into his room to search for them because running in jeans is absurd. You tell yourself you'll have it all washed and put away by the time he gets back.

The pound of the pavement beneath your feet is the best feeling in the world. The exertion clears your head. You don't have to think about anything other than the thundering of your heart in your ears.

You make your way out of Brian's neighborhood, through Downtown Salem, and down passed the pier before you double back. You're jogging through the Horton Square when someone unexpectedly steps out of the Brady Pub and directly into your path.

"Woah!"

Thankfully, the person catches you before you can knock them over.

"I am so, so sorry! I— Will?"

Your stomach drops. How much does the universe hate you that he would be the one you collide with? Then again, you chose to direct your run by the Brady Pub, so you can't be too surprised when a Brady (or a Horton) wanders out of it. Christ, did you do this to yourself on purpose?

He blinks at you, clearly shocked to find himself so close to your face. You pull away with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

Will laughs nervously. "Yeah, I got that."

"Sorry," you say again, unsure of what else to say.

"Sonny, it's fine," he says. "Actually, I was…" His voice trails off, and he frowns.

"What?" you ask, maybe too eagerly. "You were what?"

Will's expression is pained. "That's Brian's sweatshirt," he says, voice flat.

Startled, you stare at him. How did…?

"He wears it all the time to the gym."

You forgot they used to be friends. It's kind of hard to imagine since you only ever saw them together once, and they were at odds even then. You don't like the idea that you came between them, but that would probably be giving yourself too much credit anyway. How deep could the friendship have been? They only knew each other five minutes before you were knee-deep in a love triangle. You've never seen any indication that they miss each other's company (not that they would show _you_).

"You and Brian. That's…"

Will looks like he's seconds away from bolting, his eyes filling with tears and looking everywhere but at you.

"Will…"

You're hurting right along with him, but you can't tell him it's not what it looks like. It's exactly what it looks like. You climbed out of Brian's bed, where you had sex with Brian, and then you put on Brian's clothes (because you're sleeping together and you figured he wouldn't mind).

Brian has nothing to do with Will. He never needed to know about this thing you have going with Brian. You and this stupid pink sweatshirt. Leave it to Brian to have the only salmon-pink Men's sweatshirt in town, and leave it to you to pick it for your run. You're always making the wrong choice.

You feel like a complete bastard, but all you can think of to say is: "I'm not doing this to hurt you. You know that, right?"

Will smiles sadly. "Sorry, but that actually kind of makes it worse."

"Oh. Will, I'm… I'm sorry." You are so, so sorry. For both of you.

"I know. I just… I have to go. Somewhere else."

"Okay," you say. There's a fascinating spot conveniently located near your shoe, so you don't have to watch him walk away.

Will makes it about ten steps away from you before he suddenly stops and turns back. He retraces his steps until he's right in front of you. "No," he says.

You look up, surprised. "No? What—?"

Before you know it, Will has grabbed your face and kissed you…

… and you're back in Common Grounds. Will is telling you again that he misses you every minute, every day, and you're forgetting yourself, wanting nothing more in the world than to forget yourself so you can…

With Will's taste in your mouth and Brian's scent from the sweatshirt in your nose, your brain malfunctions. You're kissing Will back, gripping his jacket and pulling him closer. The leftover arousal from your dream that morning takes over, and you're kissing and kissing him.

Will pulls back before you're ready. "Sonny," he gasps out, "just so you know, I'm not giving up on us. I'm just not."

He sounds determined. As if giving back the key was your idea. He said you should just be friends. He said…

… he's not giving up on you.

_What?_

Slack-jawed, you watch him walk away.

* * *

You end up back at Brian's apartment.

There's so much adrenaline pumping through your body that you can't stay still. You find yourself pacing around the room like a fish trying to escape its bowl. You're angry, you're panicked, you're exhilarated…

… you're still mid-pace when the sound of a key turning in the door alerts you to Brian's return. You pause in the middle of the room.

Brian must have come straight from practice, because he's carrying his gym bag and still wearing his workout clothes. He smiles when he sees you. "Oh, you're still… here." His voice trails off.

It's like watching a hound suddenly catch a rabbit's scent as his attention narrows in on you. Still and silent, he stares at you staring back at him. He takes in your heavy breathing, your pupils probably still blown wide with arousal. You see him process that you're wearing his clothes.

Door slammed, bag on the floor, and he's across the room.

You're slammed back against the wall, already moaning at the contact. His hands are everywhere, and you're clutching him, kissing him. It's not enough. It's never enough. You tear off his windbreaker, but it's the only article of clothing that goes without a fight.

Brian has to wear form-fitting spandex for crew practice. Loose clothes could get caught in the slides under the moving seats or in the oar handles as he's rowing. Before, you admired the way the spandex hugged his body. Now, you just want it all off and out of your way.

However, removing the spandex when you're wrapped just as tight around him soon proves impossible, and you groan in frustration.

Brian breaks away from your mouth with a breathless laugh. Taking over, he sheds the annoying layers while you run your hands over his skin as it's exposed. You're both already sweaty, him from crew, you from the run, but you _do not even care_ right now. You want on him, in him. Or him in you. You really do not care.

Remembering that you're still dressed, too, you start to take off Brian's sweatshirt. He catches your wrist and says, "Keep it on."

Oh. _Oh_. "Okay."

Finally naked, Brian leans back in so your bodies are pressed together against the wall. Holding your stare, so close your noses brush, he pushes down the borrowed shorts along with your underwear. The sweatshirt stays on.

You think you make some kind of animal noise, but suddenly you're kissing again, Brian's tongue back in your mouth, your arms around his neck, holding him in, and then in his hair, and down his back. You just want to be touching.

Brian moves his mouth down to your throat, and he does that thing where he's sucking too hard and probably leaving marks as he goes. You won't complain, not when you've discovered that you like it this way, when he's just this side of too rough with you, like you're desperate teenagers again.

You like the idea that you can make him feel desperate. What that says about his effect on _you_, though… Well…

You whisper what you want into his ear.

You can feel the way your words shoot through him when his whole body kind of shudders and he buries his face in your neck to cover his helpless moan. He breathes you in at the place where your neck meets the collar of his sweatshirt.

He kisses you again. _Yes_, you think. Yes.

You're ready, you are, but then Brian is pulling back, saying, "Sonny, is this…?"

Nope. No room for thoughts here.

Before Brian can finish, you're pushing him toward the bed.

You're too hot in the sweatshirt, and you want the full sensation of his naked skin on yours, but you hold your tongue because having it on seems to fuel Brian's fire for whatever reason.

You forget to care about the sweatshirt once Brian is finally inside you, because you're beyond caring about anything else.

Afterward, when Brian lifts his head, his eyes warm and sated, he's grinning at you like this has been the best thing ever.

Closing your eyes on the sight, you give in to the pull and let it carry you into oblivion.

* * *

Afterward, it's with a sinking feeling in your gut that you realize…

… you realize that even with Brian on your tongue, and his wet breath against your shoulder, it still doesn't feel over.

* * *

Note:

1. Selections of dialogue were adapted from the February 6, 2013 episode (the "Will gives the key back" scene).


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: As with previous chapters, I've edited down the smut in this one in order to comply with this site's ban on explicit material. The editing was minimal this time though. If you still wish to read the full chapter, then you can find it at starvinbohemian. livejournal. 299871. html.

… _**The Loose Ends Will Make Knots**_

**(Chapter 7)**

You're having dinner with your parents when she says it.

"You seem better."

The fork halts midway to your mouth. "What?"

Mom beams at you. "I don't know. You just seem… _lighter_."

Dad clasps your shoulder. "It's a good thing, Sonny." He and Mom share a smile. It's clear that, as far as they're concerned, your grace period for this mourning thing is almost up. They have worried and fretted and given you more space than their instincts have allowed for, but now they're ready for you to be moved on from this latest heartbreak. Time to be better, Sonny.

You smile, too, as if you could be better, but you can't really share in their optimism because you don't feel "lighter."

If you're in a good mood today, then it's because Brian surprised you that morning with a mix of the latest Top 40 songs. He did it mainly to make fun of your music taste— it offends his "superior" Indie sensibilities in a way that uncomfortably reminds you of Will and his ridiculously obscure music collection— but you liked it.

You liked it even more when Brian bent his head over your lap while your car was (thankfully) in park, and he sucked you off to the tune of Kelly Clarkson's latest single.

You have fun with Brian. That's kind of the point of you and Brian. Fun. Distraction. Not recovery. Not… anything else.

You don't want to seem better. You aren't ready to be better.

… and none of these are things you can tell your parents.

* * *

Will sends you a text.

_I miss you_.

Three little words, and they hit you with the force of a sledgehammer.

Your first instinct is to delete it and pretend you never saw it in the first place.

You save it instead, but promise yourself you won't look at it (too much).

* * *

It's completely illogical that hearing that you seem better would actually make you feel worse.

But you are you, and the connections your brain makes don't always make sense.

And maybe that's why you drink a little too much of Brian's wine that night and try to call Will while Brian is snoring on the bed behind you.

You don't know what you're planning to say, but it's suddenly very important that you talk to him. There's a litany of _"I'm not giving up on us"_ playing over and over again in your head.

What was he thinking, saying that to you? It's not fair. Actually, none of this has been fair. Maybe that's what you want to tell him. Or maybe you want to apologize again for accidentally cluing him in on what you've been up to with Brian. Not that you _need_ to apologize for that, but the broken look on Will's face has been haunting your every waking moment so maybe you kind of do. And you don't even know what to do with that kiss…

You didn't tell Brian. You're not sure if you're supposed to or if he would even care.

Come on, of course he would _care_. You're not that dense. But thinking about _why_ he would care leads to all sorts of questions about you and Brian that you aren't ready to face yet. And, for all you know, he's been kissing other boys, too. (Right. Between you and all his other stuff, when would he have found the time?)

You already feel guilty for hurting Will. Should you feel guilty for potentially hurting Brian, too? Your mind rebels at the notion. You and Brian have never really discussed what you are, but you at least know what you _aren't_. Right?

You need to talk to Will. Your vision blurs when you try to focus on your contacts list, so it's really more of an estimate when you hit the call button.

After a few rings, all it takes is a hesitant hello on the other end of the line for you to realize your error.

"Sonny?"

Oh, no. No, no, no.

"H-hey, Alex."

A-for-Alex is nowhere near W-for-Will.

Yet, somehow you called Alex. Your brother Alex who stopped speaking to you when you came out to him.

He talks to you now (sort of). It's taken years but your relationship has finally recovered to a place where you can exchange the occasional email. You rarely talk on the phone, both trusting the family grape vine to eventually reach each other with the important stuff.

You're Facebook friends, if that means anything. Through the pictures, you've formed an idea of what his life is like now in Texas even though you're hardly a part of it.

(You can't help but wonder if he's ever perused _your_ pictures. Did he ever see a picture of Will? Did he have an opinion?)

Alex does an admirable job of pretending he's happy you called. "What's up, little bro?"

Unexpectedly, you realize you want to tell him everything. You want him to make it all better just as he did when you were little, back when he still liked you and you adored him.

And how illogical is _that_?

"Nothing. How are you?" You put all your effort into not slurring your words while also trying to keep your voice down so as not to wake Brian. Really, what were you thinking, trying to call an ex-boyfriend two inches away from him? Stupid. You're never drinking again.

"Great. We're just getting the baby down to bed."

Right. Alex is a father now. Father to a little boy that Alex and his wife already dress in little Cowboys onesies. The time your family spent living in Texas, however fleeting, gave Alex a certain regional loyalty when it comes to football. One day, Alex's kid will likely do peewee football and little league and everything you once did, and Alex will be proud of him.

You want off of the phone so bad, but it would be more awkward to just say goodbye now before some obligatory small talk. He's going to wonder why you called.

"How is my nephew?"

You can hear the smile in Alex's voice. "Great," he says again. "He's the best, Sonny. Really. He's finally sleeping through the night and everything."

Your voice comes out thick. "That's… that's great, Alex." You've always wanted to be an uncle, but you've never met this kid so you don't really feel like one. Maybe one day.

"How are _you_?" he asks.

"Good," you lie.

"Great."

"Yeah."

"Why are you whispering?"

"Oh, I'm… I don't want to… It's kind of late here, and I'm not by myself." It's not really that late. Besides, Texas's time zone is only an hour earlier. Brian just had a day full of tests and a particularly draining crew practice (and you didn't exactly let him sleep much _last_ night), so he basically passed out as soon as he walked through the door. Unfortunately, that left you in the unenviable position of sad-drinking alone.

And now your brother knows that he's talking to you while there is another man sleeping next to you. There's a prominent pause on the other end of the line. "… Oh."

It's more awkward now, and you can't think of anything else to say. Apparently, Alex can't either because the silence stretches thin.

It makes you so damn sad because you used to have any number of things to say to Alex. It got to the point where you talked mostly in a rush so you could get it all out before something else stole his attention from you. Your family used to tease you about it, but Alex never did. Now, you can't remember the last time you two talked on the phone.

"Okay," you say after the silence has gone on too long. "Well. I'll let you get back to—"

"Sonny?"

"Yeah?"

"Is everything, I dunno, okay?" He sounds as if he really wants to know. You wish you had some generic problems that wouldn't require going into your romantic life, like a problem with the cafe or a professor. You remember Alex being good with that kind of stuff.

As it were, there's nothing you can say that he will actually want to hear about. You've made some progress in regards to him accepting you, but you're still wary of pushing it too fast, too soon.

Three years after the fact is apparently still too soon.

So, you say, "Yeah, everything is fine."

"Oh. Okay. Good, I mean. It's just… I talked to Mom. I heard about… you know."

He heard about _you know_. Humiliation burns behind your eyelids when you squeeze your eyes shut. "Oh."

"I'm sorry."

You take a deep, calming breath before you say, "Thank you."

"I heard… Well, I heard you were really happy. Shit, sorry. That was the wrong thing to say, wasn't it?"

"No, it's… it's fine. That you said that. It's okay." The words don't seem to come out in the right order.

"Break-ups suck," he says, sounding sympathetic. "I know it seems hard right now, but that's not forever. Okay?"

He sounds so much like he used to that your heart swells and you don't trust yourself to speak without embarrassing yourself.

It occurs to you that maybe he's missed speaking to you, too. It takes two not to speak after all. Maybe he isn't disappointed in you anymore. Wouldn't that be nice?

"Sonny, are you… are you okay? Really?"

You must be really, really _not_ if he's asking you that.

And now, suddenly, you do want to be better like Mom thought you were. Because this feeling is so awful. You've waited years for Alex to be your big brother again, but it's too much right now when you're drunk and sad and tired.

"Yeah.," you say, rubbing at your eyes. "But listen, Alex, I really have to go now. I just wanted… I just wanted to say hey. Okay?"

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Well, I'm glad you called, Sonny."

You want that to be true more than anything. "Me, too. Bye."

"Bye."

At the click, you find yourself staring at the phone in your hand as if you could psychically will Alex back onto the line. You want him back, but you're also relieved to be off the phone (because your feelings are messy like that right now).

Movement behind you has you realizing that Brian is awake and sitting up in bed. Because you woke him up, obviously. He regards you with a curious expression.

"My brother," you say before he can ask.

Brian doesn't say anything, just watches you watch the phone, and then you hear him sigh. He scoots up the bed, sheets tangling around his waist, until he's sitting on the edge with you.

You're sorry, even though you don't say it. He should be resting after his long day, not stuck dealing with you.

"You don't get along?" he asks.

"Not really."

"The gay thing?"

Your shrug, of course, means _yes_.

Brian sighs again and rubs his head, further mussing his bed-head. It's kind of ridiculous how he never looks unattractive no matter the circumstances.

You sit together at the edge of the bed in silence. You don't elaborate, and he doesn't ask. You like that he's there, and you wish you were alone. Sometimes, even you don't get you.

"My father doesn't speak to me," Brian says.

The non sequitur catches you off guard, and you end up gaping at him. "What?"

Brian's voice is flatter than you've ever heard it before. "He pays for the apartment and school, but that's it. My mother lies to him about where she's going when she brings my little sister to see me."

"Oh."

And, finally, here is the man behind the curtain, the one you were reaching for all those weeks ago. Your mind churns at Brian's revelation, rearranging your perception of him to fit this new piece of the puzzle. Brian has always struck you as something of an island. You had no idea how right you were. That's… awful. But it explains a lot.

Suddenly, Brian makes a whole lot more sense. Except for the part where he's sharing this with you.

You're not at that place yet where you can share and compare the scars with each other. You're kind of friends, but not really friends. You're lovers, but not really lovers. You're mostly just hovering in a space that you hollowed out for yourselves somewhere in between all that. So, all this is new territory for you. It feels dangerous to say anything, as if you could ruin everything with a careless word.

You never even really talked about Alex with Will, except to say that he eventually came around after an initial freak-out (technically true). Maybe because Will has always loved that your family is whole and secure (the supposed opposite of his).

Will never really heard you try— admittedly, not _that_ hard— to tell him that the nuclear version is new, that your parents have married and divorced an insane number of times and that one of the divorces was in Dubai. Your mother moved out, returned to the states, and _left_ you there in a country where being gay could mean the death penalty. Not that she knew.

(But _you_ did.)

She went back to the states and took the twins, Vic and Joey, with her. Alex had already returned to his beloved Texas by then. You stayed behind with your father and his haunted eyes because someone had to. You weren't going to just leave him behind.

Funny that, in the time since, you've learned that leaving people behind is the best way to avoid being left. But you would never do that to your dad.

He's your hero a thousand times over. He's Superman. He didn't have to say it for you to know that he missed your mother every day they were apart. All the same, he got up every day, took care of you, and did his best to hide the ache until there was no longer a reason for it. You learned from him that pride can be a virtue. You learned from him how to be brave.

But he was left. And so were you. Many, many times.

On some level, Brian gets it. He probably gets _you_. And now he's shared something with you, something intimate and revealing, and that must mean he trusts you.

You don't know what to say. You've done nothing to earn his trust.

Reaching between your bodies, you squeeze his hand. Brian gives you a stern look. "I didn't tell you that so you could feel sorry for me."

No, he told you that because he wanted you to feel less alone. It's working, though now you feel like a jerk for letting him think your strained relationship with Alex is anything like his being disowned by his father.

Regardless, you're both members of a club no one wants to join. You don't feel sorry for him, but you do feel sad on his behalf. It's not the same, though Brian might see it that way.

"Don't make this a thing," Brian says. He's clearly embarrassed. Embarrassed to have revealed himself or embarrassed for you and your weepy, drunk calls?

"I'm not." Your expression is innocent, but he rolls his eyes like it isn't.

When he tries to pull his hand away, you tighten your grip. If you let him go now, then it's going to be awkward. You need to show him that he's wrong, that you aren't pitying him.

For lack of a better idea, you cup the side of his face and turn him into a kiss. When it comes to Brian, this is what you know. This is how you communicate. You're safer in familiar territory.

The kiss is soft and surprises you for the nervous flutter it inspires in your stomach. You don't know who's comforting who anymore. Just so long as you don't make anything any worse, you're probably good.

You pull back just far enough to say, "Brian, no one feels sorry for you. You're too arrogant to pity."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Gee, thanks."

"I meant it as a compliment."

"Strange compliment," he says, though his eyes are trained on the pajama pants you're pushing down your legs.

It goes without saying that Brian doesn't want to have an in-depth discussion about his father with you. You're okay with that. You don't want to talk about Alex either. Or Will, for that matter. You came dangerously close to calling him and… you don't even know what.

There are other ways you and Brian communicate. This is one of them.

You think Brian gets you. You don't really get Brian, not yet, but maybe you're starting to.

* * *

You think the subject is closed.

Before you know it, you've left the edge of the bed to straddle Brian's lap.

He surprises you by having a coherent thought. He pulls out of a kiss to say, "I'm arrogant, huh?"

You're grinning, and your response is half-moan due to what he's doing with his fingers. "Oh, the _worst_."

"You love it," he growls.

"Yeah," you gasp because you kind of do.

You're more drunk now, on this, than you were from the wine. This is so much better than thinking, so much better than worrying. You let your head fall back into his grip when Brian cups the back of your neck. He pulls you forward so he can run his tongue up your throat. The sound you make is low, guttural.

Brian's stubble grazes sensitive skin when he speaks against your neck. "Want to know something?"

You're honest. "Not really." Why is he trying to talk to you _now_? Your brain is basically offline, and that's _his_ fault.

Brian snorts. "_Sonny_."

Okay, okay. You lift your head and try to concentrate on what he's saying, though it's hard.

"They don't matter."

They… what?

Confused, you start to pull back. You don't get far before Brian drags you back into a rough kiss that turns into another and another. Reliable as rain, the lust moves in to crowd out the more complicated emotions.

You drop your forehead onto his shoulder with a frustrated groan when he starts talking again. Brian runs his free hand through your sweaty hair. "They want to hold us back, but there's no going backwards once you've had this." His breath is hot against your ear after he places a wet kiss there. "I won't give this up for _anyone_."

You think he means sex— of course he does— but you can barely focus let alone hear anything over the rush of_ yes, please, more_ in your head. "_Brian_," you whine. You want more than fingers.

Brian knows exactly what you want. "Up," he says.

_"Up, baby,"_ you remember saying to Will.

Your heart doesn't just skip a beat; it jerks to a full stop. _No_. You do _not_ want Will inside your head now. But you never seem to get far from him, do you? You're shuddering before you can help it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you hide your face in the warm skin there so you won't have to meet his intense gaze. He says, quiet and intimate, "No one else matters."

For a hot, blissfully numbing moment, he makes you believe him.

* * *

Note:

This chapter works off of my personal head-canon backstory for Sonny and Alex's relationship that you might recognize from my other fic _Your Dog Boys of Summer_, which is in many ways the mirror sibling of this one.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: As usual, the full, mature version of this chapter is available at starvinbohemian. livejournal / 300346. html.

* * *

The morning after your talk with Alex, you're lying in bed next to Brian, and you're kissing.

There's still time before either of your alarms go off. You could be savoring those last vestiges of sleep, but Brian woke you up with a kiss on your shoulder and a hand on your hip.

You were trading soft kisses back and forth before you were even fully awake. You're awake now, even if you still feel half-immersed in dreams. Brian's mouth is so gentle on yours, and it's never been like this before, a slow, leisurely exploration of each other's mouths with no move to do more…

… until you realize you've been kissing for ages without ever feeling the passage of time.

Maybe this simple realization shouldn't result in an anxiety attack.

But it does.

* * *

In no time at all, your house of cards starts to crumble down around you.

If you don't notice right away, then it's probably because everything has been crumbling for a while now.

* * *

When you leave the warmth of Brian's apartment to open Common Grounds, you're anticipating a typical winter morning in Salem. You're bundled up in preparation for a mere chill in the air, but you aren't expecting to see snow drifts covering the ground.

The first real snow of Salem's latest winter, and it sneaked in while you were sleeping.

Your walk to work feels as if it's through a whole new town. All the stains, the secrets, and the decay are invisible. For at least an hour before the rest of the town wakes up, you have the privilege of seeing Salem look clean and renewed. For the first time since summer left and took its warmth along with it, winter doesn't feel oppressive.

It's nice.

On your way passed the Brady Pub, you pause long enough to see that it's still dark inside. Will's great-grandmother Caroline hasn't come downstairs to open shop yet.

Following a whim, you run your finger through the ice on the window until a smiley face looks back at you. Feeling happily young and dumb, you smile back.

Then, you think of Caroline seeing it.

You erase it with the speed of a guilty child and continue on your way.

* * *

Around 9 o'clock that morning, Will sends you another text.

You open it with more than a little trepidation. A moment later, you're smiling because he's sent you a picture of Johnny and Sydney.

Stuffed into puffy snowsuits, their curls peaking out from beneath wool caps, Johnny and Sydney beam up at the camera. They're hugging a lopsided, one-armed snowman they must have made. There's a blue plaid shirt delicately draped around the snowman's shoulders that you recognize as belonging to Will. You can easily imagine the kids begging him to take them out to play in the snow and him agreeing despite having a class you know he has to get to.

They make for such a sweet image that you don't even think about it before you save the picture as your phone's background.

You go back and forth on whether to send Will a response, even going so far as to write, erase, and re-write multiple drafts.

Eventually, you just give up on the idea with a sigh and go about your day.

* * *

In celebration of the snow, Brian's crew teammates host a party in the Student Union.

After a full day of classes and a split shift at Common Grounds that had you both opening _and_ closing, you're not really in the mood for the equivalent of a frat party. Brian assures you his teammates are less obnoxious than that.

You pretend to be absorbed with cashing out your register because Brian is leaning over the counter and giving you big, hopeful eyes that you can't look dead-on without laughing.

"It will be fun," he says.

"I have to close."

Jackie chooses that moment to look up from scrubbing the counter. "Oh, I can do that, Sonny." Until this very moment, she was your favorite employee, always ready to offer an extra hand when you needed it. You really don't need it now, though.

"But…"

"Go on," she says. "Have a good time."

Brian smirks at you.

Despite your obvious reluctance, Brian seems strangely eager for you to go. He's usually content to hide out with you, and he's never talked about introducing you to his friends before. You've essentially had him all to yourself. Now, he really wants you to go to this party with his teammates.

You don't get it because things have been kind of strained with Brian since that morning you made out in his bed. The awkwardness you wanted to avoid after he revealed his estrangement from his father has hung on with death claws— and, ironically, for a completely different reason.

It's your fault for freaking out about a couple kisses. You aren't embarrassed that he knows about Alex, but maybe Brian is embarrassed for having told you about his dad. You don't know because you haven't pried. He hasn't either. Maybe Brian has just been reacting to what he's been detecting from you. Or maybe all the awkwardness is just coming from you.

Either way, things have been weird and it's forced you into reevaluating your situation.

"Well?" he prompts.

"Brian… fine. Okay."

He grins, clearly pleased to have gotten his way. "Okay."

Ultimately, you give in more so because it means a night out than because of Brian's coaxing. It's starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the cocoon you've built for yourself in Brian's apartment. It's starting to mess with your head.

As in how it's becoming increasingly obvious that you've essentially moved in with Brian. You got tired of packing and unpacking your overnight bag, so your toothbrush is beside his on the sink, your shampoo left in his shower. That same overnight bag has clean clothes from your apartment. Yesterday, Brian asked what you wanted for dinner. That wouldn't be weird in itself, except that he asked you in the morning before you even left for work with the obvious assumption that you would be having dinner later together. And he was right, because you did.

There's no way Brian hasn't noticed. He hasn't said a word about it.

You also maybe feel a little guilty, because for a few days after the fact, you tried finding reasons to avoid him. You ignored a couple texts. Unready to return to your own apartment, you hid out for a few nights at the Kiriakis mansion with your family. You told yourself that Brian would appreciate getting some of his space back.

This would be night three of hanging out with Uncle Victor and Aunt Maggie. It would be, except that— in typical Brian fashion—he leaves you no room to think, crowding you in and forcing you to deal with him.

It's probably only fair when you've been crowding him so much lately.

* * *

"Do your teammates know?" you ask on the walk over to the Student Union. "About you?" If you're going to be stuck playing the role of his "good buddy," then you want to know in advance.

Brian gives you a look that makes you feel ashamed of yourself. "Sonny, I don't lie about who I am or what I want."

The first time you met Brian, he put you off by being so indignant with Will for being more ashamed of his sexuality than of being thought a murderer. You still don't think he was necessarily being fair to Will, but Brian seems devoted to living an honest life. You of all people have to appreciate that.

You can also understand being frustrated when people fail to live up to your high expectations of them.

"Good," you say.

Brian throws an arm around your shoulders, and he keeps it there until you're shaking hands with his teammates in the Student Union. Four tall, handsome guys who greet you warmly. It's kind of hilarious how they all tower over you. You're a Lilliputian in a land of Gullivers.

One of them sizes you up before he snickers and claps Brian on the shoulder.

A familiar fear creeps up, one that you remember all too well from high school. It's the one that reared its ugly head whenever you thought someone was making fun of you, maybe because they somehow sensed the truth about you.

You quickly shove it down and keep smiling because Brian is smiling and seemingly at ease so they must not be making fun of you. It's all in your head. It's almost always just in your head. Except for T. And Nick.

You inwardly sigh at yourself. Do the ugly feelings have to follow you everywhere? Can't you just relax and have a good time and get to know all these demigods Brian apparently spends his every waking minute with when he isn't with you?

Emerging from the crowd, Neil suddenly appears at Brian's shoulder. He says something into Brian's ear that makes him laugh.

You paste on as friendly an expression as you can manage. It must not be very convincing, because Neil greets you with a guarded hello that you return in the same vein. You were casual friends once, but that basically disintegrated a long time ago.

It doesn't help that every time you look at him, you see Will and Neil kissing up against a wall. You remember the sinking feeling low in your gut as you realized that even if Will did eventually come to terms with wanting men, then he still might not want _you_.

He did though. Want you.

With that in mind, you and Neil are both mature enough to let the tension fade away, but for some reason it just kind of settles between you.

The strain in your interaction isn't exactly subtle. Neil and Brian exchange a loaded look until Brian abruptly steals Neil's plastic cup out of his hands and takes a long drink from it.

He gives Neil an obnoxious smile, to which Neil just rolls his eyes. He looks more amused than annoyed, and he lets Brian keep the cup for another drink before he steals it back.

You try to pay attention to what one of the demigods is saying because you simply do not want to know.

You and Neil are strangely positioned in this web. You originally met Neil through mutual friends in a class you shared. You introduced Will to Neil, who introduced Brian to Will, who introduced Brian to you. The circles are enough to make a person dizzy.

If you regret introducing Will and Neil, then you know that Will must regret introducing you to Brian. You wonder if Neil regrets introducing his best friend into your drama with Will. Probably.

When Brian and his friends start talking about someone you've never met and the hilarious thing they did, you let your gaze drift around the room until you catch sight of familiar blond hair.

You straighten instinctively, your eyes trained on the blond. There are too many people in the way for you to get a good look. For a second, you lose sight of him as the crowd of people shifts. You nearly take a step after him.

Then, the crowd shifts again, and he's there. He turns and…

… it's not Will. From the back, they looked similar, but that's not him.

Your sigh is half relief and half disappointment.

You realize Brian is looking at you with a grim expression.

"What?" You sound defensive even to yourself.

He shrugs.

Neil's eyes flick between you and Brian over the rim of his cup. There's no way to tell what he's thinking without outright asking, and you're not about to do _that_. If not for the steady stream of chatter from Brian's oblivious teammates, then you three would probably be standing in complete silence.

When someone touches your arm and says your name, you turn to see a beautiful blond smiling at you— just not the one you were expecting.

You're still trying to place her when T appears at her side. Right. Audrey. T's girlfriend, Audrey. She's looking lovely in a pink sweater dress that hugs her curves in just the right ways. Her teeth might actually rival Brian's for the bizarrely perfect award.

T looks proud as hell to have his arm around her. "Sup, Sonny?" he says.

"What are you doing here?" you blurt out.

"It's a _party_," he says as if you're slow. "What are _you_ doing here?"

He has a point. You just weren't exactly expecting to run into him here.

Audrey touches his arm, and T's demeanor instantly shifts back to friendly. "I was hoping we'd run into you," he says.

"Do you remember me, Sonny?" she asks. "I'm—"

"Audrey," you say. "Yes. Of course I remember you. Hi." You greet her with considerably more warmth than you did T. After just one meeting, you already like her more than you ever liked him.

Audrey introduces you to her brother, whom you somehow missed standing directly beside her. "This is Sam."

Blond like Audrey, Sam has that corn-fed, All-American look. He shakes your hand with a wide smile (the perfect teeth must be genetic). "Hi, Sonny. I've heard a lot about you."

You eye T again. "Really."

Sam's gaze shifts to beside you, and if it's possible then his smile becomes a little brighter. Brian shakes his hand and introduces himself.

You realize he was probably waiting for you to do the introductions, so you do the rounds. When you get to T, you give him a warning look, but he's on his best behavior (likely because Audrey is standing next to him).

Sam apparently recognizes Brian from watching his crew matches. "That last race was intense," he tells Brian. "You guys were amazing."

Brian ducks his head as if he's feeling modest, but you know better. He doesn't _do_ modest. "Thanks, man. It was a close race."

"No, really! You guys were great."

You look down in surprise when Audrey twines her arm around yours. She whispers into your ear, "Crew is that sport with the rowing, right?"

You keep your voice at a conspiratorial level. "Right."

"Oh, good. I wasn't sure. Sports are a foreign language to me."

"Just smile and nod," you tell her. "It's what I always do." Except for football, you mentally amend. After years spent in Texas, you know everything there is to know about football. Brian has tried explaining the more intricate aspects of crew, but to you it's still just a race.

"Me, too."

You smile at each other, and maybe you fall a little in love with her. Beautiful, charming, and apparently a walking douche-bag antidote. How the hell did T manage to snag someone like Audrey?

Oh, right. By _lying_.

As if he can hear your thoughts, T chooses that moment to smirk at you. He clearly finds something hilarious.

Stuck between him on your right and Neil watching you on your left, you figure this is as good a time as any to make an escape.

Gently disentangling yourself from Audrey, you touch Brian's arm to get to his attention. "I'm going to get a drink."

He looks at you as if he knows exactly what you're doing. But you're surrounded by people, so he can't exactly call you on it. Instead, Brian takes Neil's drink again— "Hey!"—and basically chugs the rest of it down.

You leave with a sigh. You don't know what his problem is. You don't want to be in a bad mood, but you did warn him that you already had a long day before he decided to drag you here.

Making your way over to the drinks table, you can't help but scan the faces around you. No one is familiar.

You jump, startled, when T's voice pops up beside you. "Don't you own anything that isn't a button-up?"

"Are you following me?"

T snorts. "You know, it's a wonder we aren't better friends."

"Yeah, it's a wonder." You pick up an empty cup from the drinks table, more for show and having something to fiddle with than anything.

T just looks at you with a smug air until you finally give in and ask, "What? What is it, T?"

"Go ahead. Ask me. You know you want to."

"Ask you what?"

"About Will."

Your tone is flat. "I wasn't going to ask you."

"Yeah, sure."

Your inclination is to be stubborn, but T is right (for once). You do want to ask. Defeated, you sigh and ask, "How is he?"

"Not good, Sonny."

You stiffen immediately. "What's wrong?"

"Gabi and that Nick guy are going to eat him alive. That's what's wrong."

You look closer at him, surprised that he would get that. "Has Gabi said anything to you?"

"We aren't exactly _compadres_ anymore."

"Then how do you…?"

"Um, because I have _eyes_? Anyone can see that Will is getting snowballed here. Well, anyone but _him_. He needs you."

The empty cup gets bent in your anxious hands. "What am I supposed to do about it?" It's not your baby. You have no say at all.

"I dunno. Be his back-up or whatever."

It's not like this hasn't occurred to you. Picking up after Will's messes is hardly a new concept for you. Not just Will either. Your role has always been to hand-hold everyone else through their stuff. You are the rock, the stable one everyone can count on.

Where is _your _rock?

You want to help Will. You want to make everything okay again for him, will always want things to be okay for him, but…

"Look, I… can't."

"You can," he says, looking disgusted with you. "You just won't."

How bizarre has your life become when the guy who once tried to punch the "pretty" off you feels completely comfortable judging you?

Or when even T seems to know what you should do when you have no idea whatsoever?

"Well, this conversation has clearly been a waste of time," T says cheerfully. "Let's see how the other end is doing." He waves at Audrey.

Leaving her brother with the crew team, she comes bouncing over. T catches her hand and twirls her once. It would be adorable if it were anyone but T.

"I think it's going well," she says.

"What is?" you ask.

She looks pleased as punch. "My brother and that guy."

"What guy?" you ask even though you can clearly see who Audrey's brother is talking to.

"Brian-what's-his-name. We thought they might hit it off. We so called it." She and T high-five.

They brought Audrey's brother for Brian?

"You don't even know Brian," you say, feeling as if you're missing something. You know T _saw_ Brian prior to tonight, because he once accused you of trying to make your customers throw up by "shagging" him next to the scones.

"He's friends with you, right?" T says. "That's all the recommendation I need."

Is he serious?

Your eyes narrow. "Has Will talked to you about Brian?"

T just shrugs.

"They would make a cute couple. Don't you think?" Audrey says.

Would they? You watch Brian interact with Sam. Audrey's brother is handsome. If he's anything like Audrey, then he's probably charming and nice, too. Brian is always charming (or trying to be), so it doesn't necessarily mean anything that they're clearly being charming together over there.

Audrey is watching you. Everyone seems to be doing that tonight. "Is it okay, Sonny? If we set them up?"

Is it?

"Of course it is," T answers for you.

"Sonny?"

Part of you wants to say, no, it's not okay. It's not okay at all. But... well, why not?

"He's cute," you say, as if that's answer enough. She seems relieved, so maybe it is.

"I need to find the Ladies' Room," she says. "I'll be right back. Behave yourselves. Especially you, Sonny," she says with a wink.

T gives a dramatic sigh. "Okay, but don't leave me alone with this guy too long."

She laughs. You don't.

The second she's out of earshot, you turn on T. "What the hell are you doing?"

He still has that insufferable smirk on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"You know!"

"What's your problem, Sonny? Why do you care?"

T must read something in your expression because he makes a face at you. "Ugh. I knew it. You are involved with that guy."

You bite back the automatic denial because this is _T_. What's the point? "If you knew, then why did you bring Audrey's brother?"

T puts his hand to his heart. "Everyone deserves love, Sonny."

You think your head might actually explode. Any more time with T, and it really just might.

"Brian isn't any of your business."

"Whatever, man. You should have seen your face when I said Will's name. You're being a dumb ass. Forget this guy and get back with Will. Why don't you just forgive him already?"

You have to appreciate his sheer audacity. Of all the people to give you advice, T is the last person you want to hear it from. You tell him so, and T rolls his eyes at you.

"It's like you don't even care about him."

Why the hell would you ever bare your soul to T? Or to anyone ever again? What has wearing your heart on your sleeve ever gotten you besides another hole in it? You're going to try it the other way this time.

Anyway, what does he know about it? T wasn't there when you had to go back to your empty apartment and erase all evidence of Will ever having been there. He wasn't in the church that day to see you humiliated while all your dreams turned to ash.

Audrey returns, and T instantly becomes Stepford T again.

"See? I wasn't gone more than a minute."

"Even that minute was too long."

You have to agree with him.

She looks at you with concern. "Are you all right, Sonny?"

"There's nothing wrong with him," T says. "Right, Sonny?"

Oh, sure.

It's with a huge surge of relief that you realize someone is waving at you from across the room. It's Abigail. She might as well be a godsend.

Before you go, you tell Audrey, "You know you're way too good for him, right?"

"Hey!"

Audrey blushes. "I don't know about that."

"Trust me. You are."

You leave Audrey and T and practically run to your cousin.

"Miss me?" she teases.

"You have no idea."

She brought a coffee from Common Grounds. There's a reason she's your favorite cousin. "How did you get Jackie to make you a drink after closing?"

"I was extremely adorable, of course."

"Of course," you agree.

"I wasn't really in the mood for alcohol tonight, you know?"

She needn't have bothered. Beside the bowl of jungle juice is a dispenser full of hot apple cider. "See?" Brian said when he showed you. "_Classy_." You weren't curious enough to test that theory.

Abigail just arrived, but you ask her, "Want to get some air?"

Her eyebrows go up, but she says, "Sure."

Outside, you offer your arm, and Abigail takes it with a smile. Together, you stroll a little ways down the arbor until you come to a low wall. You brush the snow off so you can both sit.

"This is just so unlike you," Abigail says.

She knows about you and Brian. You had to tell her after she caught him kissing you in the backroom of Common Grounds when you were supposed to be doing inventory. (You're really _awesome_ at avoiding people.)

"I guess I don't understand."

Abigail is disappointed in you. And you get it. You do. You know she's an incurable romantic— so were you once— but does she think she's more disappointed than you are? Will was going to be your whole life. It still kind of feels as if he is even though you aren't together.

"You'll like Brian," you say, "when you get to know him."

Abigail likes everyone. She's cool like that. You have a feeling she and Brian would banter well off each other. Brian would probably enjoy trying to get her to blush, and Abigail would call Brian out on his bull. You're already prepared to be rolling your eyes over their antics.

"Are we going to get to know each other? Does that mean you're getting serious with him?"

The question takes you off guard, and you're saying _no_ before you even think about it.

"Then why would we get to know each other?"

You feel irrationally irritated with her. "Just never mind," you say. You don't know why you implied they would be getting to know each other. It was just something to say in the moment.

This is precisely what you've been avoiding. When it was just you and Brian, you didn't have to justify yourself to anyone. You and Brian bring this… _thing_ you're doing out of the dark just once, and you're already hearing it from all sides.

Abigail sighs. There's a wistful expression on her face. Her latte must be cold by now. She hasn't touched it. "Brian is beautiful, Sonny."

"And he knows it," you say, smiling slightly.

"I just feel really bad for Will."

She might as well have just hauled off and punched you. You draw back as if she had. "Why would you say that to me?" Whose side is she on?

"I'm sorry, but Will is my cousin, too, and he's going to be a father before he's even old enough to legally buy a beer. That would be sad in itself, but on top of that, he's lost the love of his life. Gabi has Nick, but Will is all alone."

The ugly words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. "He's _nineteen_. There will be other 'loves of his life.'" The words sound about as hollow as you feel.

Abigail looks suitably shocked. "You don't really believe that."

No. You don't. You've been in love before, but never like this. Not like with Will.

"You sound so cynical. Where is the Sonny who loves Valentine's Day and Hallmark commercials? I know I've seen you cry at one of those before."

You rub at your eyes wearily. "He's tired, Abigail."

"You're too young to be tired like that."

"Okay, Aunt Maggie."

She hits your arm in feigned outrage. "Hey, I know things!"

"If you say so."

"_For instance_, I know he misses you like crazy. It must be hard for him to see you've already moved on." She gives you a _look_.

The irritation takes over, and you're snapping at her, all the pent up bitterness suddenly spilling over. "I haven't _moved on_, Abigail. To be 'moved on,' I would have to be able to go at least a single day— a single _hour_— without missing him. I wouldn't still wake up in the middle of the night because he isn't next to me. I would be able to listen to my favorite songs again without thinking about him. It wouldn't make me miserable to hear _he's_ miserable even though I'm so mad at him I could scream. This conversation wouldn't feel like freaking torture."

When Abigail actually tears up, you regret raising your voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't—"

She smiles and squeezes your hand. "Sonny, you still love him."

Of course you still love him. You never stopped.

You bury your face in your hands. "Doesn't it matter at all that he broke my heart?" You feel like glass being pressed in on from both sides. No matter which way you bend, you still break in half.

Abigail puts her arm around your hunched shoulders and gives you a cousinly squeeze. "Of course it does. Sonny, of course it does. But you love each other, and that means one day you're going to forgive him."

"What if I can't?"

"You can. You will." She makes it sound so easy, so inevitable.

"Even if I could forgive him… He's going to be a father, Abigail. His life is going to be diapers and bottles and a kid." And _Gabi and Nick_. "Where do I fit in there?"

And what would you do with Brian?

"As long as you have each other, you'll figure it out."

"Easy for you to say."

"Exactly."

* * *

You linger outside even after Abigail has rejoined the party.

There are too many thoughts buzzing around your head like a swarm of noisy bees. If it were really as simple as Abigail makes it out to be, then you wouldn't even be here. You'd be home, safe and sound, with Will. You'd be watching a movie together or making love or picking out curtains. You wouldn't be standing alone out here in the cold. You wouldn't be wondering where Will is tonight.

You want to believe Abigail. You would give anything to be back where you were, in that beautiful bubble. It's just… you're not ready to forgive and forget. Forgive? Maybe. But forget? You can't even walk by St. Luke's without feeling sick at the memory of that horrible not-wedding.

You don't know how to trust Will again now that you know how well he can lie to you. There's too much pride and fear in the way.

But you miss him. So much. He's waiting for you. He said so. It would be so hard, but maybe if…

"There you are."

A puff of steam escapes your mouth when you sigh.

You smile sheepishly at Brian. "Hi."

"Been looking for you." It's hard to tell if he's amused or exasperated to find you out here.

"Well, you found me."

"But did you find _him_?" he mutters.

Something about Brian's tone catches your attention. "Find who?"

Brian doesn't answer. Looking closer, you see that he's wobbling a bit on his feet. "Brian, are you drunk?"

He scoffs. "Absolutely not."

"Liar," you tease.

He waves you off, clearly uninterested in confirming the obvious. His larger footfall wipes out your trail of footprints when he joins you beside the wall. "What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Fresh air."

He gives you a knowing look. "Really."

You bump your shoulder lightly against his arm. "What was that about with your friends?"

"You're cute," he says with a shrug. "They approve."

That brings a small smile to your face. But he's unintentionally given you an opening to something you should talk about. Eying him, you choose your words carefully. "That guy was cute."

"What guy?"

You give him an incredulous look because _come on_. "Sam? The one you were talking to?"

His expression remains blank at first— "Seriously?" you say. "The one who was all, 'Brian, you're so amazing, wow"— and then Brian's face lights up in a smile.

"Oooh. _That_ Sam. Extremely perceptive Sam."

You snort. "Uh-huh."

He edges closer, his gaze narrowed in on you. "Sonny, is this jealousy?"

You give him a stern look. "_No_."

"I think it is," he says, clearly delighted.

"Shut up."

This conversation has already gone off the track you intended.

"Hey, it's okay." He pulls you closer by your jacket collar and murmurs into your ear, "I like it."

"So very full of yourself."

"You know, it's a good thing I have you around just in case I ever start to feel good about myself. God forbid."

You're smiling despite yourself. "I don't think you have any problem with feeling good about yourself."

"See? Good thing you're here. What if someone else came along and complimented me? _Disaster_, right?"

Your smile disappears when you remember what you're supposed to be talking about. "You know, it's okay if... if you liked Sam."

"Sam who?"

You smack his chest. "_Brian_."

"I don't want to talk about Sam any more."

You don't want to talk any more about Sam either, but you still think you should. It's on the tip of your tongue to tell him that he should be seeing other people. If not Sam, then at least someone (anyone) else so you aren't monopolizing him all the time.

You should say it.

"Brian..."

You can't bring yourself to say it.

Because you wouldn't mean it. You don't want Brian to like Sam. It's selfish, but at least for the moment, you like Brian where he is. With you.

And that's kind of the problem.

Brian leans in, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He looks a little hurt when you push him away, but you need some space to think about what you need to say. If you let him kiss you, then your brain will shut down as it alway does when Brian kisses or touches you. He can brush off your concerns and make fun of you, but you can't just let all of the awkwardness that's been between you slip away unacknowledged.

You take a breath and then say, "I think I've been crowding your space."

He frowns. "Isn't that up to me?"

"Yes, but..."

"Well, I say you aren't."

Your mouth opens and closes again without anything being said. How are you supposed to counter that? You hold up your hands in a helpless gesture. "It doesn't bother you that I basically moved into your place uninvited?"

Brian kisses you soundly on the mouth.

When he pulls back, he says, "Sonny, you're fine just where you are."

Defeated, you just shake your head. It can't be that simple. But you don't know what else to say. If you both like each other right where you are, then…

The snow falls, undisturbed. You didn't even notice it had started again. Around you, it's quiet. You brush some snowflakes from his hair. Brian's eyes go soft as he looks at you. He touches your face, and his glove is soft against your cheek.

Your heart is pounding in your ears when he leans down and kisses you again.

Your arms go around his neck just as he wraps his arms around your waist, and he pulls you in.

Kissing him quiets the noise in your head, and you're grateful. You're tired of worrying about everything. You know you're doing everything wrong. But for the moment, you don't care. You're caught up in a winter spell, the pristine beauty of Salem's snow lulling your brain into a contented haze.

And then Brian slips on the ice, and you're holding only air.

Snickering, you help him up. "Moment ruined. Tell me again you aren't drunk."

"Ugh. You never saw that."

"Oh, I saw it all right. I saw it all."

He cuffs you lightly on the head. "Take me home now and ravish me or else."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

The walk back to Brian's apartment takes you twice as long as the walk over because Brian keeps pressing you up against lampposts and walls to kiss you. The streets are empty and quiet. Tonight, they belong to you.

You feel light, as if the only thing keeping you from floating away is Brian's hands on you.

There's an unfamiliar undercurrent passing between you and Brian. You initially mistook it for Brian's typical eagerness to bend you over the nearest surface, but there's a serious look in his eyes at odds with the carefree smile he attempts once he catches you looking.

You want to ask what's wrong, but maybe nothing is. There's nothing wrong with Brian pushing you up against the door to his apartment or with his fingers fumbling with the keys as he attempts to unlock the door without pausing in kissing you.

Walking backwards, Brian pulls you inside. You expect to be herded straight to the bed, but it doesn't happen.

Still with the serious expression, Brian holds your gaze as he carefully unravels the scarf from your neck. Your breath catches. It's so quiet in the apartment, just the sound of your breaths. Strangely, this feels more intimate than when he's inside you.

Discomfited, you drop your gaze from his to where your hands are making quick work of his belt. You feel Brian's sigh against your cheek.

He peels the rest of your clothes off slowly, taking time to warm your skin as its exposed with hands and mouth. You shiver as the warm air of his apartment makes contact with your chilled skin. Your eyes flutter closed when Brian's hot tongue touches your neck.

You want to be back in that strange, intoxicated mood you felt while Brian was kissing you in the snow, but you can't keep the anxiety from bubbling up. Nothing might be wrong, but something is different.

Again, you have to wonder about what happens to you and Brian once this is all over. Would you stay friends? You know people who've stayed friends with exes, but you've never understood how. Would Brian even count as an ex? You skipped over all the dating and went straight into sex and cohabitation.

And why the hell did you do that? You knew before this even started that you and Brian could never be just friends, and that was before you had crossed the line into _this_.

And what if Abigail is right and you're just biding your time until you're ready to forgive Will? Would the three of you hang out and pretend that you don't know what it's like to make love to both of them?

You can't see it.

Alex once teasingly suggested that worrying would be the death of you. You could never lie to save your life, always seeing the punishment coming before you had even committed the sin. To your endless chagrin and their frustration, you blew your older brothers' cover more than once while growing up.

Years later and a completely different situation, and Alex is still probably right.

Once again proving that he must know you much better than you know him, Brian pauses in his ministrations to whisper into your ear, "Stop thinking."

You can try, especially when Brian is doing his best to be distracting. Your fingers dip below his shirt collar when he kisses you. Running your hands over his warm skin with your cold hands, you revel in his heat. It's like there's fire under his skin.

Once his jacket is off, you push your hands up under his sweater and over his chest. Brian hisses through his teeth when you rub your cold thumbs over his nipples. The rest of his clothes come off rather quickly after that.

Stop thinking? Okay. You can do that (probably). You push him toward the bed.

Brian's hands dig into your hair as you kiss your way down his chest. Just two nights away, and you already felt the absence of this. Someone might accuse you of having an addictive personality.

You haven't shaved since this morning. Turning your head, you rub your stubbly cheek over Brian's skin. He makes a funny noise, and his fingers tighten in your hair.

Sitting up, you look down at him, so beautiful and laid out just for you. Addictions are called addictions for a reason. They take your control away. But here is Brian, who generally likes to be on top, in control. This time, he spreads his legs open for you.

You're ready, your head full of _want_, but you hesitate because Brian has been so different and you're suddenly remembering that he had a lot to drink tonight. "Brian…"

He has no patience for your caution. "Come _on_," he growls. The strange, solemn vibe you felt from him before is gone. Much to your relief, he's just eager again.

Smirking, you say, "So romantic."

Brian snorts, but he's a live-wire, panting and shifting with barely contained energy.

You crawl over him, skin brushing against skin, and his hands are everywhere, up and down your back, into your hair. He leans up to kiss your throat. With a soft groan, you rub your cheek against the crown of his head in a cat caress. You don't understand it, but Brian's frenetic energy is contagious. You want to be inside him already. When you kiss him, you plunge your tongue into his mouth and greedily swallow his moan. His long legs wrap around your waist, locking you in.

His eyes are wide, fever bright, and looking into yours. You try to maintain eye contact until the pleasure and the intensity of Brian's gaze become too overwhelming and you have to squeeze your eyes shut.

It hits you then like a bolt of lightning just how screwed you really are. Because you could never pretend that you haven't done this, haven't felt Brian like this.

You really messed up somewhere along the way. As far as flings go, you're doing it all wrong. Brian was supposed to be a temporary distraction. This affair wasn't supposed to go on and on to the point where you lost the option of an easy out. It wasn't supposed to be waking up together and sharing personal struggles and kissing in the snow. It wasn't supposed to be Brian looking at you as he's been doing lately. You've tried not to notice because…

Because even now, when you're inside Brian and he's making those gorgeous little sounds, Will is there in the back of your mind. He's never really gone, and now you're starting to feel guilty about it and that isn't… _This_ isn't…

This isn't what you want.

Understanding of what you _do_ want is still up in the air and out of your grasp.

And it doesn't get any easier when Brian pulls you into a shared orgasm that has him crying out your name and you sobbing into his shoulder.

* * *

Notes:

1. Will returns next chapter!

2. There's a Neil side-story to this verse in the works, but I can't post it until after _Knots_ is finished!


	9. Chapter 9

Note: This chapter has been heavily edited to comply with this site's rules regarding sexual content. If you would like to read the full, original version, then you can either read it at my livejournal (starvinbohemian . livejournal dotcom / 302434 . html) or else at Ao3 (archiveofourown dot org / works / 692758 / chapters / 1750405).

* * *

**_… The Loose Ends Will Make Knots_  
(Chapter 9)**

* * *

It's funny how the city can be buried under a layer of snow for the foreseeable future, and your dreams are full of sand and sun.

When you lick your lips, there are traces of sharp spices on your tongue, tastes you haven't experienced in a long time. Familiar sounds, tastes, and sensations… In sleep, you're home again.

Dubai is the home you never wanted and that never wanted you. Still, she caught you during a vulnerable, formative period; and now you're inside each other, caught together in a coil made of both love and hate.

Right now, within the safety net of sleep, it's love. Even amidst the misery and the fear, there were always silver linings in the cracks. It's easier to access them from here than it is when you're awake and it's impossible to separate the personal from the political.

One of those silver linings was the warm, lulling breeze that sometimes blew through the sheer curtains of your bedroom window. Lying on your bed in your sweltering room, sweat slowly dripping down your face, you could close your eyes and feel the breeze like a cool caress over your body.

You can feel it now because you're there again, lying on your old bed in the house you shared with your family the last time you all lived together. In reality, your brothers are scattered to the four winds. But if you commit to the illogic of the dreamscape, then you can believe that what you're hearing is your brothers horsing around down in the street with the neighborhood boys.

The beauty of lucid dreaming lies in the simplicity of it: you want to be back there, and so you are. And everything… _everyone_ is just as you left them.

As you wake up, slowly, reluctantly, Dubai's heat lingers in your mouth, your head, your heart.

Strangely, though, the heat seems to remain even after the dream slips away. You realize why after a confused moment.

Brian is tucked up against your back, his legs entwined with yours. He's wrapped snugly around you, his hold too tight to be comfortable. Last night, you thought there must be fire under his skin. This morning, his body is still warm enough to burn you.

(You wish you could carry the heat around with you as he does. After Dubai, after Texas, Salem is just too cold. You're always too cold here.)

A rush of sudden homesickness grips your heart. It's not even for Dubai. You ran from her the second you could as if there were fire under your feet and _absolutely anywhere else_ was a cool pond. It's elusive, what you're missing, but you feel the loss of it all the same.

Just as you're about to gently disentangle yourself, you freeze at the touch of Brian's lips on the back of your neck. His hum, a sleepy, contented noise right there at the base of your neck, reverberates through your skin like a living echo.

You suck in a shaky breath.

You remember now, falling asleep like this, with Brian pressed up against you. Your bodies were limp, languid. You told yourself it was happening because the room was so cold and Brian was so warm. Even then, you were thinking of Dubai and how the nights never got as cold as the ones in Salem.

(You don't know why you were expecting different, but it's not the same, not at all. No matter how warm you are in Brian's bed, Salem is not Dubai. You're hundreds of miles away from the real thing.

And you're never going back.)

The pressure of Brian's mouth becomes more insistent, his tongue and teeth scraping along the nape of your neck.

It takes you a moment to find your voice. "Brian…" you say tentatively. Your intention is to put on the breaks. Not for the first time, Brian misunderstands you. Granted, you're probably sending a mixed message by moaning at a sharp tug from his teeth on your ear.

You can tell from a light pull on your hair that he wants you to turn into a kiss. You don't— your gaze remains stubbornly trained on where your fingers grip the sheets— but you're shivering in his arms despite yourself.

It would be easier to stop if it didn't feel so good. That's kind of the problem. Brian makes you _want_. Probably because _he_ wants so passionately. Sometimes, as it does now when his thigh slips between yours and there's a whimper at the back of your throat, this thing with him feels inevitable, as if it was always going to happen between you one way or another.

You don't really believe that, but it's easy to believe with arousal clouding your head.

With a frustrated sigh, you're pushing at his grip and wiggling away until Brian takes a hint and releases you. The floor is cold under your feet, the air a cold contrast to the warmth of the bed sheets.

Yawning sleepily, Brian props himself up on an elbow. Blurry-eyed, he watches you escape the bed. "You all right?" He sounds as breathless as you feel.

You wish you could sound less flustered. "I'm fine," you say, not looking at him. "I'm going to take a shower."

The way he's staring suggests that you didn't exactly manage to come off as completely natural when you said that completely natural thing. Or maybe he's staring because of the way you're slowly backing away from him as if he's a cobra you just found in your bed.

"Okay… Can I—?"

You close the bathroom door on his offer to join you, your heart racing in your chest as you lean back against the hard wood.

Your reflection in the bathroom mirror looks so ridiculously frazzled that you can't help but feel embarrassed for yourself. Groaning into your hands, you let your head fall back with a hard thump against the door.

There was no good reason you had to run out of the room like a complete freak. It's just that… if you'd stayed in the bed, then you and Brian would have had sex. Before that happens again, you just need some space to think. You _cannot think_ when Brian is determined to seduce you.

It feels as if you haven't had a coherent thought in _weeks_. Maybe you haven't. Maybe that's why everyone has been treating you as if you've lost your mind or as if you've been replaced by a pod person.

When you turn on the faucet, only ice-cold water pumps out from the frozen pipes. You don't bother to adjust the heat before you jump in. Maybe it's not your brightest idea— oh, sweet Jesus, it's _cold_— but a cold shower is just what you need right now to chase off the memory of Brian's body against yours.

Here's the thing: the problem isn't even that you clearly made a mistake last night or that you let things get out of hand. The real problem is that you let it happen _repeatedly._

When it should have been about reestablishing boundaries, last night was soft hands trailing over your back. It was Brian's lips and tongue on your wrist, traveling down your arm, his mouthing the delicate skin in the crook of your elbow. It was the way your gaze lingered too long on the places where your bodies touched. Too gentle, too intense.

Afterwards, you didn't push him away or say "we need to talk" or anything like that. You could have told yourself that you never meant to, that it just kind of happened. But the words wouldn't have really meant anything when you didn't even _stop._ You kept touching him. You kept kissing him.

You give yourself an extra splash in the face because you're overreacting. You know you are. Look at Brian. He isn't hiding in the bathroom. He gave no sign that last night freaked him out as much as it did you.

Then again, you can't help but think… why should he be upset? Isn't this what he wants? Every time you've tried to initiate some distance— starting with your first meeting all the way down to this morning— he's resisted you. And you've let him.

It suddenly occurs to you that you have no idea what Brian wants from all this. That's… not good.

Maybe this whole thing with Brian has been too easy all along. Since you lost Will, Brian has been the current, the instigator, and you've let him pull you whichever way so long as you didn't have to be the one making the decisions. That way, it wouldn't be your fault.

You never really considered how much stock you put in the assumption that what Brian wanted matched what you wanted. For all you know, it doesn't. Because if what you both want is a casual fling, then you've both been doing it all wrong.

Unfortunately, you feel far from blameless in this situation. And, consciously or not, Brian has been instigating a shift.

You aren't ready for another shift.

When you finally emerge from the bathroom, Brian is sitting on the edge of the bed. He's glaring down at his ringing phone as if it's offended him. You don't know when any of his ringtones became familiar to you, but this one is unfamiliar.

(Neil's ringtone is Natalia Kills's "Hot Mess" for some reason, and yours is Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" because your music taste never ceases to amuse and Brian can be kind of an asshole when he wants to be).

"You gonna answer that?"

A tap of the ignore button and the phone goes into the top drawer of his nightstand. "It's nothing," he says.

"Okay," you say because you don't know what else to say.

When Brian finally looks at you, he does a funny kind of double-take at the load in your arms. "What are you doing?"

You clutch your toiletries to your chest. There's a tad of unwarranted defensiveness in your tone when you say, "I'm going to take some of this stuff back to my place."

Brian stares at your full arms, and something unreadable passes over his face. "Oh."

"Is that…?" You stop yourself, because you were about to ask if it was all right. There's no reason to ask that because of course it is. It's your stuff, and it belongs in your apartment.

There's a sardonic twist to his mouth when Brian hangs his head and runs a hand over his face. "You…"

"What?" You definitely sound defensive now.

Without answering, he's suddenly up and moving toward the bathroom. He's still naked, and there are marks along his body leftover from the night before. Your handiwork. You hear him snort when you avert your eyes.

"I hope you didn't use all the hot water," he says, sounding genuinely pissed off at the prospect.

"I didn't…"

The door slams behind him, and you're left feeling ridiculous standing there in the middle of the room with your shampoo and shaving cream.

Maybe you slam the door a little harder than necessary on your way out, too.

* * *

Despite how it feels, it really hasn't been that long.

Still, when you push open the door, you can't help but feel as if your apartment has the air of a sad, abandoned place.

With a deep sigh, you go about putting your things away. It only takes a few minutes. There really wasn't as much stuff as you thought.

With that done, you're left with nothing to do but slump, defeated, onto the edge of your bed. Being back here still feels off, as if you could turn your head quick enough and catch Will cooking in the kitchen or shaving at the bathroom sink. Somehow, your apartment manages to feel both too large and too claustrophobic at the same time.

But what choice do you have? You're more convinced than ever that you need to reduce the amount of time you're spending at Brian's apartment, and you don't want to impose any more on Uncle Victor and Aunt Maggie.

There are two voicemails waiting for you from your mother. It's been a while since you've spoken. When you took up with Brian, you basically dived down the rabbit hole. She'll want to know how you're doing, if you're still doing "better."

You erase the voicemails.

You wouldn't know what to tell her anyway.

* * *

Going to work seems like a better alternative than sitting alone in your apartment. With all your confusion, the busy work should at least offer a temporary refuge from your thoughts.

At least, that was the theory.

One of the things you most looked forward to about owning a café was the opportunity to build ties within the community. Now, you see the fallacy in building a place where anyone can find you, any time.

"What are you doing here, Gabi?"

The words came out harsher than you intended. You can tell Gabi felt every ounce of venom you just spat at her by the way her face tightens and her tone becomes clipped.

"I'm looking for Nick, Sonny."

"Why do you think Nick would be here?"

"Well, this is the coffee house. You know, people hang out here. If he asked you for a cup of coffee, would you kick him out?"

You find it strange that either of them would even consider putting you in that position. Shouldn't it go without saying that the trio that ruined your hopes and dreams should get their coffee elsewhere?

"Of course not. But—"

"But what? You know, Nick and me and Will are really trying to make this work. Are you above that? Is it really too much to ask you to _try?_"

She makes it sound as if you're being unreasonable, like a stubborn child pouting at the dinner table and ruining everyone else's dessert. You can't raise your voice in front of your customers, but it's a near thing. "What happens between me and Will is none of your damn business."

"Look, I know you don't like me. And I really don't blame you for being angry with me."

It's funny, but you didn't even realize that you were angry with Gabi until right this moment.

"Gee. That's big of you, Gabi."

You're staring without meaning to at her baby bump. She's big as a house even though her delivery date is still a ways off. Seeing her makes the whole thing feel more real. There's no denying that one day, very soon, that baby is going to come out, and everything is going to change. Again. You have to wonder what Will is thinking about this.

"We both care about Will," she says.

Does she? T said Gabi and Nick were going to eat Will alive. You've seen how far Gabi is willing to go in order to get what she wants, what she was willing to do to Melanie when she got in her way. They were supposed to be friends, too.

"You have a funny way of showing it," you tell her. "I'm not gonna stand here and watch you hurt him again."

Defending Will comes naturally to you. It's where you feel strongest. But something about Gabi's expression warns you that you're not going to like what she says next.

You're already bracing yourself when she says, "Are you kidding me, Sonny? You've already hurt Will more than I ever could."

There it is again. Abigail was kinder when she phrased it, but it's still the same indictment. You abandoned Will. That's how everyone sees it.

And you are twice as defensive hearing it from Gabi. "You're really gonna judge _me?_"

"I was just saying—"

"Don't talk to me about hurting people. I know exactly who you are and what you've done. And if Will knew—"

Maybe you went too far and hit Gabi where it hurts, because she throws down her ace in the hole, her cruelest weapon. "What Will knows is that I'm carrying his baby, okay? _Our_ little girl."

Theirs. Not yours. It's the same thought you've had every day since that morning in the church. You still aren't ready to hear it from anybody else, let alone from _her._

"And that is something that is gonna keep us together for life. Something that you and Will will never have."

It's a bucket of ice water over your heart and a slap in the face all in one.

There's a reason you were avoiding having this confrontation. No matter what you said, you were always going to lose. And it's because Gabi has the upper hand on you. She and Will are bound together by blood now. Blood always wins out. You're a Kiriakis. You should know.

You aren't even in the equation anymore.

So why are you still here fighting with Gabi?

Nick conveniently chooses this moment to show his face. For the first time ever, you're actually relieved to see him.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says. Gabi glares triumphantly at you. You imagine she feels really proud of herself. She didn't even need to be saved from you, but her knight still showed up to do the honors. "Let's go home."

Nick looks between you, obviously curious, but he follows Gabi's lead. They at least do you the favor of leaving before you can throw them out and prove Gabi right by acting petty.

Instead, you bite your tongue, and Gabi gets to have the last word. You're left with frustration and anger surging through your shaking hands.

You didn't even raise your voice, but people are staring again.

Jackie touches your arm. "Sonny, I can get these customers. If you want to… I think there's some inventory…"

"Yeah… okay. Okay." Her kindness means you get to retreat to the back office to lick your wounds. No one would blame you if you stayed back there for a long time.

You make a mental note to talk to Chad about hiring on some more people so you won't have to be there every day.

* * *

Some hours later, you're on a prearranged lunch date with Brian.

You're still too preoccupied with thinking about Gabi and what she said to be anything but terrible company. You should have just cancelled. In all honesty, you just forgot. Then, Brian showed up, and now here you are, strolling through Horton Town Square with an untouched sandwich crushed in your hand.

Brian's in a similar mood. You didn't exactly have a fight, but you get the sense that he's mad at you.

You wonder if his mood has something to do with his being hung-over from the night before, but your question just earns you a withering look.

"I wasn't drunk, Sonny."

You could argue that point, but you aren't in the mood. "Fine."

"And neither were you."

Something about his tone makes your hackles rise. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Brian just snorts.

You don't know what his problem is, but you're in no place to deal with this today. You don't know why you're pretending that you should be spending time together right now when it's clearly not what either of you want to be doing.

When his phone starts ringing for the umpteenth time, and he makes no move to answer it, you finally give voice to the smallest of your frustrations:

"Will you just answer that? Who keeps calling you anyway?"

He looks at you as if he wasn't expecting you to call him on this clearly shady behavior and he's kind of ticked that you actually did. You expect him to snap at you, maybe something along the lines of "none of your business."

What he actually says is, "My mother."

"Oh. Well, why don't you answer?"

"Because I don't want to talk to her." He says it as if you're slow.

Fed up with his attitude, you're about to cut the date short when something catches your eye in a store window and distracts you entirely.

It's a bassinet. A beautiful, pristine white bassinet. The kind you imagine happy, affluent couples putting happy, affluent babies in. Picture perfect.

Abigail said that you were going to forgive Will. In her mind, you're just on sabbatical from your relationship with Will until you can get over yourself. Maybe she's right. You miss Will. You can admit that much to yourself. Still, it isn't so simple, is it? This situation would be complicated even if there wasn't a baby involved.

But there is.

Abigail can judge you all she wants, but you're the one who would have to commit to a life on the sidelines of Will, Gabi, and baby makes three. Where would you fit into that picture?

You can't stand Gabi. She can't stand you. The logical part of your brain knows that it's not the baby's fault how it came into the world. But since when can human beings be counted on to always be rational? What if you ended up resenting Will's child? You would hate to be that person. But what if…?

Brian appears at your shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

You're watching his reflection in the glass, so you see Brian scowl when he sees the bassinet. "Oh."

You try to envision Brian as a father, and the image doesn't come. You've never discussed children before, but his reaction fits your expectations of him. Not that you ever realized you had any expectations.

The question flies out of your mouth before you can think about it: "Do you want to have kids someday?"

You don't know what you were expecting, but his furious reaction to your question startles you. "Are you being serious right now?" he snaps. "Really, Sonny?"

Baffled, you can only stare at him. He's really angry. What did you say?

He's already walking away from you when he abruptly stops and yells back, "You can't have it both ways."

Stunned, you watch him walk away.

* * *

You're a stress cleaner. Always have been. When things get overwhelming, you like to throw yourself into chores. Clean, simple purpose clears your head, and you don't have to think about "You can't have it both ways" or "I'm not giving up on us."

Lucky you, your apartment has weeks worth of dust available to you. The lulling roar of the vacuum cleaner happily disrupts your quiet apartment. You determinedly attack every corner.

It just so happens that, while you're pushing the vacuum under the bed, a familiar shade of blue pops out at you. There's already a knot in your stomach before you even bend over to pick it up, _"I'm not giving up on us"_ already back to the forefront of your mind.

It's Will's shirt. One of his favorites. He must have left it behind when he packed up his stuff. You always loved this shirt on him.

Such a simple thing… it probably shouldn't still hurt like this.

You should give the shirt back. Or throw it away. This isn't what you need right now.

You go so far as to pull over the wastebasket. But that's as far as you get, because your fingers don't seem to want to let go.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone. Your text is short and to the point:

_I have something of yours._

Will doesn't make you wait long for a response.

_Common Grounds tonight? 6 o'clock?_

You worry your bottom lip. It takes you a few minutes to work up the nerve.

_All right._

* * *

Folded neatly, Will's shirt waits on the counter top.

There are still hours to go until 6 o'clock. Try as you might to resist, your gaze keeps going straight back to the clock. You don't even know if you're excited or dreading Will's arrival. Either way, this is probably a bad idea.

Still, once 6 o' clock, then 6:30, and 7 all roll around and there's no Will, you can't help feeling disappointed. There's no message from him on your phone— you've checked. You don't want to think that something bad happened to keep him from coming, but the alternative is that Will just chose not to come. You wouldn't blame him, though you don't really believe he would stand you up.

Which is why you're scrubbing at the counters for all you're worth, caught up in your epic battle with coffee stains because it's better than worrying. Common Grounds has way more opportunities for stress cleaning than your tiny apartment.

You're so busy trying _not_ to think that you aren't initially paying much attention to Lucas and Kate, who are having an intense conversation at one of the tables. It's only when you happen to overhear Gabi's name that your ears perk up.

"Is Gabi in labor?"

Labor? That can't be right…

"I don't know," Lucas says, frowning down at his phone. "Sami's not sure. She's having contractions."

The rag falls from your hand.

Kate says exactly what you're thinking. "It's way too soon for the baby."

You were right to worry. Will had to stand you up because the baby is in trouble. Will's baby. Will…

"I know it is," Lucas says. He looks worried, too. "That's why I have to get to the hospital."

"I'm going with you."

The door hasn't even fully closed behind them yet, and you're already hurriedly fumbling with your apron strings. You grab Jackie as she's walking passed. "Can you close up for me?"

She looks taken aback by your intensity, but she says, "Sure."

The word is barely out of her mouth before you're out the door.

* * *

On the way to the hospital, you keep replaying your last conversation with Gabi.

You don't know what's wrong with Gabi, but it's hard not to feel guilty. Just an hour ago, you were dwelling on your negative feelings about her. Maybe you weren't specifically wishing ill on her, but you weren't exactly sending her positive vibes either.

In the face of potential tragedy, you feel fairly ashamed of yourself. But mainly you're just worried for Will.

You find them all hovering in the hospital lobby. Lucas, Kate, and Rafe are there with Will. They all look terrified.

You clear your throat.

There's a moment when you feel the weight of their collective stares, when you think someone is going to ask what you're doing there, and you'll have to defend yourself for intruding on a very personal situation even though you're not Will's boyfriend, or related to anyone, or anything to them really.

And then Will's expression crumbles, and he's throwing himself into your arms, and you're holding him, and no one is asking anything.

His arms are tight around your neck. You clutch him to you, an arm around his waist and a hand holding his head against your shoulder. You're murmuring things into his hair, "I've got you. You're okay. I've got you…"

"Sonny, the baby…"

"… is fine. Everything is going to be fine."

You don't actually know if everything is going to be fine. You don't know what's wrong with Gabi or the baby. But you would say anything to get the pain out of Will's voice.

You eye Will's family over his shoulder. Their relieved expressions make you wonder how bad Will was before you got there. It doesn't matter. You're here now.

* * *

Later, after you've led Will away from the group supposedly to get a cup of coffee but really just to give him some room to breathe, he says, "I can't believe you came over here."

Your smile is self-conscious. "I heard your dad telling Kate what was going on and… We're still friends. I just had to be here."

You are still friends, you realize. Now, standing here across from him, it's hard to believe that you ever worried that you couldn't still be there for him just because you broke up. When something big like this happens… How could you stay away?

When Will doesn't say anything, you nervously add, "Unless I'm in the way. I can go."

"No." More sure, "_No._ I want you to stay." He drops his gaze. "I really do."

You try not to look so obviously relieved. "Okay." You touch his shoulder. "I can't imagine how hard this is on you."

"You know, she was just this idea. She was just this problem. And then I saw the sonogram, and she was, like, trying to suck her little thumb."

You can't help smiling at the wonder in his voice.

"I put my hand on Gabi's stomach, and I felt her kick. It was like she was saying, 'Hey! There you are. I've been waiting for you.' And I'm like, 'That's my kid. You know, I have a daughter. And I started thinking about all the stuff we could do together. I could take her camping in the summer. We could go ice skating in the winter."

The picture he's painting for you is exactly the one you've been avoiding thinking about. Listening to him, you can easily imagine Will with his daughter, who in your mind is beautiful and golden just like her father. For the first time, the mental image doesn't hurt.

You don't know who Will was kidding. He never could have given up this baby. Not for you. Not for anyone. It's clear that he's in love.

Being here, seeing this… there so many complicated feelings soaring around your head. You can't even zero in on one without risking unthreading entirely.

Somehow, you manage to keep your voice steady when you say, "Will? You kind of suck at ice skating."

He manages a self-deprecating smile. "Yeah. I was gonna try to get better though. I can't fall if she's holding my hand." His voice wobbles. "I really hope I get to hold her hand."

Seeing him start to crumble again snaps you out of your temporary backslide into self-pity. You touch his hand. "Will, everything is going to be okay."

He searches your face, probably gauging your sincerity, so you try to put your conviction where he can see it. You must have failed, because Will's eyes become misty.

Uh-oh. "What is it?"

To your surprise and relief, Will smiles through his tears. "Nothing. It's just really nice to see your face." His fingers curl around yours.

You have to swallow around the lump in your throat.

"It's really nice to see your face, too."

* * *

Your vigil in the hospital lasts through most of the night.

Will doesn't handle the wait well. Anxiety has him pacing around the room, always in orbit around you. You want to reach out and touch just to make him stop, but his family is watching you. You can't tell if they want you to or not.

It's one of the longest nights of your life. After so long without news, you start to consider what you're going to say to Will if the baby doesn't make it. It's a dim prospect. After everything, it's possible that Will, undoubtedly distraught, won't want to hear anything from you at all. You could tell him that you're sorry, but why should he believe you?

You keep all of your anxiety locked down tight under lock and key with the full understanding that this is not about you, but not everyone manages to do the same. There's a lot of stress-related behavior that you're witness to throughout the night.

Everyone seems intent on blaming Sami for this, Will included. Apparently, she and Gabi argued at the Brady Pub, and that's what led to Gabi's early labor pains and the rush to the hospital.

Will can barely stand to look at her. All of their issues are on full display for the whole room to see. He orders her out of the hospital multiple times, but she stubbornly stands her ground, determined to be there for him whether he likes it or not.

You hold your tongue because you have no idea if Sami is to blame or not; though, it strikes you as unlikely that someone cold enough to have their own best friend kidnapped just to get them out of the way would be so delicate as to collapse just from a few harsh words from Sami. If that's all it takes, then you're lucky she didn't collapse after talking to you. This thought has you feeling fairly sympathetic toward Will's mother. But you aren't here for Sami.

After a while, Will finally exhausts himself. He slides down the wall to the floor beside your chair. He looks defeated. It hurts to see him like that. Without thinking, you abandon your chair to join him on the floor. Your shoulders brush.

His lip trembles. "Tell me again."

He's whispering, so you lower your voice to match his. This conversation obviously isn't for anyone else. "Tell you what?"

"That it's going to okay."

You imagine everyone can hear the sound of your heart breaking. Oh, Will. Forgetting your earlier trepidation, you put your arm around his shoulders. When he leans his head on your shoulder, you murmur into his ear, "It's going to be okay, Will."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "Okay."

You realize with a jolt of surprise that he might actually believe you. Because you would never lie to him. Could he still have that much faith in you?

Suddenly, there's a weight on your chest and you're pulling him closer so you can lay your head against his. It could be your imagination, but Will seems to breathe a little easier. It's amazing that just an hour earlier and this kind of closeness between you wouldn't have been possible.

It seems to take forever for Maxine to come out and say that Gabi and the baby are all right.

Dehydration. All the blaming and snarling at Sami, and it was just dehydration all along.

Will hugs you again with a half-relieved, half-hysterical laugh. Sami looks just as relieved, and you don't blame her. You're feeling pretty relieved yourself to know that it wasn't your bad vibes that put Gabi in here.

"You were right," Will says.

Thank God. "Of course I was," you joke. "It's _me_."

You can feel Will smile against your shoulder. You were aiming for glib, but there's no denying that the thought of _what-if-you-weren't_ has you gripping him tighter. You send a grateful _thank you_ up to the universe.

Sami watches you hold Will. When your eyes meet, she sends you a watery, grateful smile. In this moment, you think you understand each other. To you, she isn't the town screw-up, just a frightened and protective mother. Neither of you are technically supposed to be here— Kate and Rafe haven't stopped giving her the stink eye— but you're both still here because you care about Will. The only difference right now is that Will is letting you hold him.

It's a small, private moment between you and Sami when you return her smile over Will's shoulder.

* * *

You take Will home.

* * *

Sometime when you weren't looking, Will moved into the Salem U dorms.

The walk up the staircase to his room inspires conflicting feelings in you. Even when you were still planning on moving in together, this is where you privately suspected Will should be all along. You never told him, but you worried that moving in together would somehow take away from his college experience and make him grow old at the peak of his youth.

(Turns out that was going to happen regardless.)

Your worries didn't stop you from giving him the key, though. Obviously, you wanted him to move in with you more than you worried for his overall wellbeing.

You can be selfish, too.

Will drops his keys onto the desk and flings his jacket without looking to see where it lands. He tiredly rubs his eyes. Poor guy has to be exhausted. You place his discarded jacket over the back of his desk chair.

Will isn't looking at you when he asks, "Brian isn't going to mind you being here?"

Christ. He isn't looking, so he doesn't see you flinch. "It's fine." There's nothing else to say about it. Not now anyway. You don't want to open that door. You're not here to talk about Brian.

You say his name softly. That catches his attention, and he watches you with wide eyes as you settle on the edge of his bed. "Come here," you say.

When he shuffles closer, you take his hand and pull him down so he's sitting beside you. You put your arm around his shoulders, tugging him closer until he lays his head on your shoulder. It's a mirror of your position at the hospital, except that the bed is much more comfortable than a cold hospital floor.

It's been such a long night. You can hear all the pent up stress and anxiety release in his sigh when he slumps against you.

Will's dorm room is quiet and still around you. Before this year, you chose mountains over classrooms, so you never really had the dorm experience yourself. You imagined loud noise reverberating through the walls well into the night.

And then you remember that it's 4:30 in the morning. Even the most ardent frat boys are probably sleeping.

Will reaches up to clutch the hand you've got around his shoulder. The familiarity almost gets you. You've sat together like this a million times before and under much better circumstances.

You have to purposely suppress the nostalgia before it can rear its head. Instead, you will your mind to go blank. It doesn't matter that the boundaries are blurred here. You just want to help. Being here seems to help.

You've felt so lost lately. For the first time in a long time, you know exactly where you're supposed to be, and it's right here taking care of Will.

Will's voice is strained when he breaks the silence and says, "Sonny, I thought… When I got the call, I thought that—"

You shush him. You know what he thought. "Gabi and the baby are all right, remember? You're all right."

He nods a little desperately.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No. Just talk to me."

"About?"

"Anything. Tell me about your day."

"Well, most of it was spent at the hospital…"

"Before that. Tell me about before."

You search your mind, but there really isn't any part of your day that you want to share. Will doesn't want to hear about your drama with Brian. So, you make up a story about Chad, some make-believe customers from Japan, and a cultural misunderstanding. You talk and talk until Will finally yawns.

"Am I boring you?" you tease.

"No. Just tired."

"You want to lie down?"

"Yeah."

You're about to pull your arm back when Will tightens his grip on your hand, effectively locking you in place. When he leans back on the bed, you're pulled down with him with Will's head cushioned by your arm. You pull your arm back just enough so that you're able to roll onto your side and face him. He smiles sleepily at you.

Your heart is beating rapidly when you say, "My arm is not a pillow."

"Your arm is the best pillow," he says, causing you to snort. More serious, he asks, "Stay?"

It's only with a slight hesitation that you say, "Okay." As if you could say no when he's looking at you like that. "You can go to sleep if you want."

Will does close his eyes, but you can still see signs of tension on his face. You reach out slowly, unsure but still wanting to soothe out the worry, and gently stroke your fingers over his eyelids. He twitches under your hand, and you freeze.

But when Will doesn't move away or even open his eyes, and so you move your fingers down his cheek and trace the lines around his mouth. His bottom lip falls open at your touch.

_The boundaries are blurred here,_ you remind yourself.

Emboldened, you let your fingers roam further. You touch his hair, softly trailing your fingers through the strands. Will hums contentedly under your touch. You think he looks relaxed for the first time since you found him at the hospital. The sight sends warmth through your chest.

You feel light, dizzy. Once you've started, you can't seem to stop touching. Will lets you run your hands over his face, down his neck, and over his shoulders without comment. The only sound between you is his shallow breaths. Maybe he senses that speaking now would pierce the fragile bubble you've woven. This does feel like an _other_ space meant just for the two of you.

Which is why you don't say anything either when he curls around you, his arm tight across your chest. He must feel your heart beating wildly against your ribs, but he doesn't call you on it.

He's so close that his eyelashes graze yours when he leans forward. Your heart is in your throat as you let your eyes slide shut. His lips brush against yours. Soft and sweet, like a butterfly kiss. It makes you ache. This is what he does to you. He brings clichés to life and makes the rest of the world fade away.

But you have to cup his face and say, firmly if regretfully, "No, Will."

You feel his disappointed sigh on your lips. It echoes your own.

"Sonny…"

When you open your eyes, the look on his face makes your breath catch. The truth is that no one has ever looked at you as Will looks at you— as if you're everything. Being on the receiving end of that look is the most wonderful, terrifying thing in the world.

Will scoots down so he can bury his face in your neck. "I love you," he whispers.

You're glad he can't see the pain on your face. Tortured, you say, "Will…"

Will takes your hand from where you're clutching the bedspread between you. He kisses your knuckles. "I'm going to keep telling you so you don't forget."

* * *

You don't leave immediately; rather, you wait until his breathing has evened out in sleep before you carefully reclaim your arm from under his neck.

Will's blue shirt is still in your bag. You place it, still carefully folded, on his desk for him to find once he wakes up.

You're creeping out of Will's dorm room like a guilty lover when he says it.

Startled, you turn with your hand still on the doorknob. The soft light through the window has caught him just right to make him look ethereal lying there, pale skin on pale sheets, his blue eyes shining at you through the gray half-dark.

You either woke him or else he was never really asleep. He claims the pillow you were using, wrapping his arms around it and pulling it under his cheek.

There's no vindictiveness that you can sense when he says it, only a simple earnestness that you could never blame him for.

Still, you make him repeat it. "What did you say?"

"Brian isn't who you think he is."

Yeah, that's what you thought he said.

* * *

In retrospect, you shouldn't have asked him to elaborate.

But you did.

* * *

By the time you actually leave Will's dorm, you're squinting against delicate morning light.

With the adrenaline having worn off, you're left feeling groggy and vaguely ill from stress and lack of sleep. There isn't much thought behind it when your feet take you back to Common Grounds. It is your home away from home, the place you spend most of your time.

You end up curled up in one of the booths. Sleep doesn't come, not that you really expected it to.

You're still there in the booth when Brian eventually comes to collect you. You don't look up at the sound of the bell tinkling over the door, just when he hovers over the booth and there's really no further excuse for ignoring him.

He looks tired, too. Other than that, it's hard to read him. You stare at each other, and Will's words echo through your head.

_"Brian isn't who you think he is."_

Brian doesn't have to say what he's thinking because there are something like six unanswered text messages on your phone from him sent over the course of the night asking where you were.

After a moment, you stand with a sigh.

Brian holds the door open for you, his expression still blank. You still haven't spoken.

The silence is strained on the walk back to his apartment. You drag your feet until Brian gets frustrated with you and finally just goes ahead at a faster pace. A rebellious voice in your head suggests just turning around and going back to your own apartment. No explanation required. You don't, but it's tempting.

By the time you get back to the apartment, you see that Brian has left the door open for you.

In the kitchen, Brian is chopping vegetables with laser-focused intensity. His usual breakfast consists of a bunch of vegetables juiced together in the blender. The only time you've ever seen him cook anything unhealthy was when he was cooking something for you.

"Are you hungry?" he asks without looking up.

"No."

"Where were you?" he asks evenly. The carrots get pushed to the side to make way for the cucumber. You watch him quickly hash out a row of perfectly symmetrical slices.

"With Will."

You see him absorb that. His jaw clenches. You note that he doesn't look surprised.

"At the hospital," you add.

He just stares at you, so you spell it out more clearly. "I was at the hospital with Will."

You jump in alarm when Brian abruptly slams the knife down onto the cutting board.

"I don't have to be anywhere for six hours." His voice is still eerily calm despite the violent gesture. "I'm going back to bed."

Abandoning the vegetables, he walks right passed you and heads for the bed. He sits on the edge and starts taking off his boots. He can't be serious, but he sure looks determined to at least act as if he's returning to bed.

Well, he isn't going to ignore you that easily. You follow him to the edge of the bed, hovering in front of him. "Aren't you going to ask me why we were at the hospital?"

He gives you an ironic look. "No."

"No?" Your hands clench at your sides. "You were his friend. You don't care?"

Brian's fuse must be shorter than he wants you to think, because he's only just sat down but he throws his boot onto the floor and stands again. You're too stubborn to move back even though you have to crane your head back to still look him in the eye.

His eyes are livid when he smirks at you. _"No."_

"How can you say that?" you demand, appalled. You've never seen him like this before. Of course, you've never really fought before.

"How can I…?" He laughs incredulously. "Sonny, if Will was the one who was hurt, then you wouldn't even be here. So I'm guessing it's the baby mama drama. Yes? Thought so. And guess what? _I don't care_ about that or whatever else he's using to try to lure you back in."

He gets in your face and says, "You wanna know what I do care about?"

Your only response is a glare.

"While I was here, worrying about you, you were with Will? Ignoring my texts?"

You could reassure him that it's not what he thinks, whether it is or isn't, but you're so angry you're seeing red. So you say, _"Yes."_

"Fuck you, Sonny Kiriakis." And then he's pulling you into a brutal kiss.

You shove him back. "No, fuck _you_—"

He cuts you off with another kiss. This time, you kiss him back. The kiss is angry, full of teeth and spit, and you're rudely pulling at the buttons of each other's coats. Your lust and fury are so intertwined that there's no clear distinction.

If you were a more violent person, you might have just hit him. You hit T because that was the only way to make him understand that you weren't going to take his abuse lying down. But that's not you. Banked anger, emotional shut down, and sharp verbal jabs are how you fight back. Now you know Brian can match you in that. He can match you in this, too.

For you, it's been a long 24-hour stretch with not enough sleep and too much stress. Stress about Brian, stress about Will. You've officially been pushed passed your endurance threshold. All your frustrations with him boil over, and you're pushing Brian back onto the edge of the bed so you can straddle his lap.

Brian tugs your shirt over your head, and it's barely off before he's kissing you again. You pull back just far enough to get his shirt off, too, barely breaking the kiss. It's hard to get his belt off while you're still sitting on his lap, but you manage.

Your whole body is singing. How can you be so angry and still want him this much?

Brian may not be who you think he is, but you're having trouble recognizing yourself at the moment. This isn't you. This is the guy who punched T in the face maybe, but that's not who you want to be. You want to be the guy who deserves to be looked at like somebody's hero, like the guy who makes things better, not worse.

You wince when Brian abruptly catches your hair in a firm grip. He presses his mouth hard against your ear. "Stop it," he hisses. "I can tell when you're thinking about him."

Your heart misses a beat. "Don't…"

"Don't what?"

What you think is: _don't bring Will even further into this._ What you say is: "Don't be an asshole."

Scowling, Brian maneuvers you over onto your back somewhat rougher than necessary. You lift your hips off the bed so he can get your pants off. Brian throws them over the side of the bed, and then kicks his own off before crawling over you.

For all the anger, there is still so much want in his eyes. He groans. "Damn you, Sonny…"

You could have left it at that, let him be a jerk, and allowed yourself to be distracted by the amazing sensation of his naked body on yours. But Brian just can't _let it go._

Panting, he gasps out, "It's not romantic to still be clinging to this, you know. To _him_. At this point, it's just stubborn."

Your temper flares. "Brian, will you just _shut up?_" You kiss him _hard_ because you just want him to _stop._ Stop doing this thing where he's being horrible and hates Will for no reason.

He doesn't know anything about you and Will.

With a strong roll of your bodies, you're back on top, straddling him. Brian doesn't fight the move. Probably because he can still make your knees weak just as easily from below as above. Damn Brian. No matter what, he seems to have more control of this situation than you do.

Maybe Brian sees some of your hesitance because his eyes soften slightly when they meet yours. With his free hand, he reaches up and touches your face. Just a soft graze of his fingers on your cheek, but it's completely incongruous to the mood you've set here.

He's doing it again. Once was a fluke. Twice is a redefining of your pattern. You don't want him to be gentle with you. You're mad at him. You're mad at yourself.

This misdirection in your relationship is probably your own fault, so you need to fix it.

And so you attempt to show him what you _do_ want. It's hard and rough between you and there's a long shiver that goes up your back and never really stops. You see him squeeze his eyes shut just long enough to get a hold of himself, and then he's grinning up at you, all casual arousal and easy defiance. _See? Isn't this fun?_

_We'll see,_ you think.

By now, you know all the right buttons to push. You watch Brian's control fizzle, hear the small, needy sounds he tries to but can't swallow. Brian is all about control. At the moment, you're all about taking it away.

Somehow, you've lost the thread again. Why you keep looking to lust to solve your problems, you'll never know. But you're gripping his shoulders, his face, and kissing him, crying out into his mouth.

Lust seems to be getting the better of Brian, too. He's as mad as you are, but he's gripping you as if he never wants to stop. You understand.

But you're more confused than ever now, and he's moaning things into your neck that you're in no place to hear.

And there's an ache building up in your chest that you're not ready for.

Why is he doing this to you?

* * *

Only afterward, when you're both staring up at the ceiling instead of at each other and it's been quiet for too long, do you ask.

"Why did you tell Will we slept together?"

There's sweat rapidly cooling on your skin, and the room has never been colder. You shiver when Brian rolls away from you, presenting his back.

His voice is flat. "Go to sleep, Sonny."

You could push him, make him explain.

But something tells you that you don't want to hear it.

* * *

Notes:

1. Selections of dialogue were adapted from the February 8, 2013 episode (the "Sonny and Gabi have it out" scene) and the February 22, 2013 episode (the "Sonny overhears Kate and Lucas" and the "Sonny comforts Will at the hospital" scenes).

2. If you're interested, then I've compiled a Companion Soundtrack to this story. Take a listen over here at 8tracks dotcom / starvinbohemian / the-loose-ends-will-make-knots or check out the lyrics and character assignment at starvinbohemian . livejournal dotcom / 301944 . html .


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